


February Twenty-Three

by gilliandersob



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, post-IWTB
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilliandersob/pseuds/gilliandersob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after IWTB, Mulder and Scully begin being targeted and spied on by an unknown party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, The X-Files, and anything regarding the show are certainly not mine (duh). Nor am I trying to make money off this piece of fan fiction…soooo….yeah.  
> Author's Notes:   
> The story takes place after I Want to Believe. Strange things start happening once again!
> 
> The title is meaningless. It didn’t start out that way, but the story got away from me. It was originally started as a prompt, someone asked for a story about what Mulder and Scully would do on Scully’s 50th birthday. It took a darker turn, which is not unusual for me.
> 
> This is, so far, incomplete (obviously). I am continuously working on it, and will be updating fairly regularly. 
> 
> Special thanks to Charnette for all the encouragement, and to Lou for the incredible help regarding medical terms and processes. And thanks to everyone who has been following the story on tumblr – your kind words mean a great deal.
> 
> I’d love feedback, so feel free to send it – good or bad: gilliandersob@gmail.com
> 
> Enjoy!

Mulder had not heard the alarm sound as usual. He was confused as he remembered it was Monday. He lifted his head off the pillow and saw Scully’s side of the bed was empty. He sighed as he pulled himself into a sitting position, planting his feet on the cold hardwood floor.

As he walked to the bathroom he shivered with the cold air – did the heat pump go again? He wondered. After brushing his teeth, he pulled an old Knicks sweatshirt out of his chest of drawers, pulling it over his head as he made his way down the stairs. He could smell the coffee Scully made earlier before she headed for the hospital. It lingered in the air and helped him wake from the sleepy haze he was still caught in.

He was still shivering slightly, and went to the thermostat on the wall by the stairs and saw that it was set to a comfortable 70 degrees.

How odd, he thought. Why was it so cold in the house? It must be freezing outside. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he moved to the kitchen to grab breakfast.

That was when he noticed the front door was wide open, snow blowing through the doorway. Mulder ran to the door and shut it, then opened it again to peek outside.

Scully’s car was still in the driveway. He frantically turned around and looked for her keys on the hook. They were still hanging there, dangling slightly in the wind. She had not gone to work? But she’d gotten up to go – there was coffee made to make that clear.

He looked around the kitchen for a note, or signs of a struggle. There was nothing. Her coffee cup was in the sink, with only a bit of brown liquid still in the bottom. She’d had her coffee, the thought. Where the hell did she go after she had her coffee…with no car?

He looked to the kitchen table and found her briefcase still in the third chair that they never used. 

He felt the panic start to fill his stomach. It made its way up his throat, down to his toes, and into his fingertips. He took a few deep breaths and decided he needed to get outside and look for her. After putting his boots and heavy coat on, he walked out to the front porch, shutting the door behind him. He was careful not to lock it - he knew Scully did not have her keys – in case she tried to get back into the house while he was outside.

He went to her car and peered into the windows, but knew pretty well that this was a useless exercise. There was nothing out of the ordinary inside. He made his way around to the back of the house, where the backyard was fenced. On the other side of the fence were dense woods. 

As Mulder came up to the fence in the very back of the yard, he stopped dead as he caught a flash of red on one of the fence railings. He got closer and saw that it was blood. There were several drops, he could see, on the other side of the fence that had landed in the dirt. They looked shockingly out of place against the gray of the morning. The snow had not stuck much yet, but it was slowly accumulating. The weather report the previous night had called for at least 4 inches in the area this morning.

Mulder pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. What the hell was happening? Where was Scully? Was this her blood? It was almost unfathomable to him. After so long living a relatively peaceful existence here in this quiet house, suddenly…she’s missing?

The incessant bark of a dog snapped Mulder out of his thoughts. It was coming from the trees behind the house – but it sounded faint; it was not nearby. 

As he stood there, half frozen with the cold, Mulder didn’t know what to do except follow the sound of the dog. His hands, numb from the chilly air, gripped the railing of the fence as he climbed over. He tried not to imagine what may have happened - if this was indeed Scully’s blood - but it was the most obvious explanation, he conceded. 

He ran through the possibilities as he walked towards the sound of the barking dog:

She had been taken from the kitchen or front porch by someone. The blood would make more sense, though thinking of anyone in the house while he’d been blissfully snoozing upstairs just made him livid with himself. He should have gotten up with her. He usually did, anyway. But he’d been up late the night before trying to finish a chapter in the book he was working on.

If this was the case, though, why had he not heard anything? Scully would have put up a fight, he was sure of that. But what if she wasn’t in the condition to fight? What if they’d hurt her so she wasn’t able to?

He quickly shoved that possibility to the back of his mind and thought of another, less foreboding one.

Perhaps she had simply heard something back here in the woods that she thought needed her attention. A hurt animal? Maybe the blood on the fence was that of a dog? 

Why, though, would she not have simply woken me before dashing out the door, leaving it wide open, in the process, Mulder asked himself.

His stride was long and he felt he was moving swiftly, but he still had not reached the dog. It was still barking, though. It was a sharp tone; Mulder thought it was probably a small breed - but he wasn’t sure what that realization had to do with anything, Maybe if it was small it meant she hadn’t been mauled? Jesus, he thought, what a sick thing to think.

Suddenly it hit him to yell her name. He filled his lungs with air and bellowed as loud as he could:

"SCULLY! SCULLY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

His effort was met only with the repetitive barking from the dog. The snow was getting heavier now and he flipped up the hood on his coat to cover his head. 

He cupped his hands around his mouth and tried again:

"SCULLY! ANSWER ME! SCULLY!"

He was breathing heavily now, and still got no response. 

"Shit. Where the hell are you, Scully?" He murmured to himself as he walked forward, still following the sound of the dog. It was getting slightly louder now - he must be getting closer. 

He realized he wasn’t entirely sure following the dog would amount to anything. It could just be a dog barking a squirrel up a tree. But his instinct told him not to give up on the dog. It was the only solid thing he had to hang his hopes on. 

His mind went back to the blood on the fence. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner, but he envisioned all the nose bleeds he’d witnessed years ago, while they were still on the X-Files: her cancer, the computer chip implanted into her neck. His teeth began to chatter, and he wasn’t entirely sure it was completely from the cold leeching through his clothing.

The snow was sticking to the ground now in a thin layer of white. As his boots crunched through the leaves on the forest floor, his arms swung at his sides. His fists were clenched like a newborn baby. His breath froze in the air, hanging for a split second in a white cloud.

Inside, his mind was reeling. He was undoubtedly angry at himself for not hearing her leave. How could he have missed it? He’d never been a heavy sleeper – usually all Scully had to do was shift in her sleep and he was awake.

When they’d found the house, neither spoke about sleeping arrangements – Mulder became certain later on that both of them were simply too afraid to spend the night in separate rooms. They’d fallen into a routine of sorts. Scully would head to bed earlier than him most nights – she had to rise early for work. He would be in his office writing late into the night; she would usually be asleep before he came upstairs.

Mulder clenched his teeth, grinding his jaw in frustration. He almost always got up with her. He hadn’t even gone to bed very late last night. It had been maybe midnight, he recalled.

He paused in his walk towards the sound of the dog. He realized he didn’t recall waking up once in the night like he normally did. For whatever reason, he’d slept solidly, and unusually heavily, throughout the night. Was he getting sick? Had he simply overworked himself? He’d felt groggy this morning, but he felt okay now.

Well, he reasoned, it must be adrenaline.

The sound of the dog was getting louder, Mulder could tell. He was close now. He quickened his pace, beginning to jog.

“SCULLY! WHERE ARE YOU?” He called out again, but still got no response. He jogged a few more feet and stopped.

Suddenly, his head was swimming. An alarming headache made his head start to pound; he felt like he’d just been hit over the head with a hammer. He clutched his head between his hands and bent down to try to catch his breath.

I haven’t had breakfast, he thought, trying to muster the will to keep going. His breath quickened and he felt the overwhelming urge to sit down. It wasn’t a fight he could win, and he sat down into the snow, feeling the wet ground drench his sweat pants.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” he chanted. His head still pulsed and he could barely hear the barking dog anymore. “I’m okay.”

He placed his left hand into the snow and pushed himself up. He was still woozy, but he couldn’t think of himself right now. He had to find Scully.

He moved slower now, and he was relieved to hear the dog more clearly now.

He walked a hundred yards more and saw it. It was a terrier of some kind, yapping loudly at something Mulder couldn’t see. Mulder shifted his eyes, following the dog’s line of vision. He gasped, sharply inhaling a ton of cold air that stung his throat.

It was a brown coat. It had to be Scully’s. He swayed a bit on his feet, clutching a nearby tree branch for support.

“SCULLY! WHERE ARE YOU?” Mulder couldn’t make this as loud as his previous attempts. He was shaky and his voice faltered a bit. Still, he was sure that if she was anywhere nearby she’d hear it.

Instead, again, he was met with only the dog’s bark. Mulder shook his head from side to side, trying to clear his head.

“Shut up,” he commanded the dog. It whimpered a little and ran in the opposite direction.

With the barking silenced, Mulder walked towards the coat. It was lying over a log – like someone had carefully placed it there. It was clear to Mulder that it hadn’t been shed in a hurry, or unknowingly dropped. The coat was brown wool with a black silk lining. He picked it up and looked at the collar:

CALVIN KLEIN – 100% WOOL

And below that, what he feared:

‘Scully’ was written in black Sharpie below the label. She’d done that while working at the hospital, claiming the coat as her own.

“SCULLY!” he yelled once more.

He tucked the coat under his arm after examining it; it was spotless – no blood, only a bit of dirt on the side from the log it was resting on. Stepping over the log, Mulder kept moving forward. Why had she lain her coat down? Wasn’t she freezing?

Thoughts of Scully in the woods, in a pile of leaves, frozen with hypothermia skated through his mind. His urgency grew and he picked up a jog again, once in a while yelling her name, hoping for a response.

He felt relief over not having found any more blood on his trek through the woods. Maybe she’d cut herself going over the fence, he thought.

He tried to keep the thoughts at bay, but he couldn’t help remember the burned bridge, with all those bodies beyond recognition. All those years ago, Scully had gone there prompted by some unknown force. She didn’t have any recollection of doing so, but she’d put her own life in danger. Mulder grudgingly accepted that this was a possibility. He could think of no rational reason why she’d leave the house – the door hanging open – in a snow storm – and not tell him.

He clutched the coat tighter, hanging on to this small piece of Scully still in his grasp. He could smell her scent wafting up as he shifted it from one arm to the other. He thought again about the heavy sleep he’d had the previous night, how unusual it was. He thought hard and was confident that he’d felt all right before going to sleep. He could remember nothing unusual in Scully’s behavior, either.

They’d had dinner, chatted a little about their respective days, then Mulder had gone to his office, telling her he was going to go write a few more chapters before bed. She’d nodded and sat on the couch, reading through a medical journal for an hour or so. She’d poked her head into his office at around ten o’clock, saying she was going to bed.

He examined the memory hard, searching for clues: she’d been wearing her blue silk pajamas, no robe, and white socks on her feet. Her hair was down, hanging over her shoulders, still damp from her shower after work. Her face wasn’t pale – or flushed, for that matter. He could think of nothing out of the ordinary.

But then it dawned on him, and he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten it.

She hadn’t eaten much dinner, and she’d mentioned in passing that she was feeling ‘off’ – explaining it away by assuming she’d caught something at work. She’d assured Mulder, after a few prying questions about headaches or nausea, that it was nothing to worry about.

Her hand, he now remembered, had wandered up to her neck. He wondered now if she’d realized it, but she kept rubbing the place where her chip was located.

His face scrunched in pain. His head was smarting and he could feel that his back was now drenched in sweat. He was still jogging, darting his eyes in all directions, hoping to catch a glimpsed of her red hair. His stomach was cramping with the effort, but he pushed through it, unwilling to give into his body again.


	2. Chapter 2

Mulder glanced at his left wrist, expecting to see his watch, but he remembered quickly that it was still on his night stand, along with a half glass of water he’d give anything to gulp at the moment. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out here – an hour, two maybe? And still no sign of Scully.

As he reached a small clearing, he paused, tilting his head to look up at the sky as though it held a treasure map – a giant X telling him where Scully was. The gray clouds overhead gave away nothing, and he blinked as the snowflakes hit his face.

A ruffle of leaves got his attention. He leveled his head and glanced around, half afraid of what he might see. He turned to the right a little bit and stopped.

There she was, right in his line of vision. She was walking towards him slowly. He was surprised she didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to make it back to the warmth of the house. He held his coat in his hands – he was certain she would be freezing. He jerkily began moving toward her, fiddling with her coat, ready to throw it over her shoulders.

“Scully! Scully, are you okay?” He called, but he got no response from her.

As he met her, he whipped her coat around her, wrapping it tightly and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. He looked at her face, where her eyes stared blankly ahead, unseeing. She had an abrasion on her forehead, just above her left brow, and her nose was red. Dried blood was caked on her upper lip.

Mulder hastily tore his coat off, throwing it over top of hers. Her lips were already a light shade of blue; her teeth chattered relentlessly. He bent his face so he could look her in the eyes, hoping for a sign of recognition. He waited for a moment, and finally her eyes widened slightly, then her brow came down in confusion.

“It’s cold,” she said slowly.

“I know. Let’s get home,” Mulder replied. 

He took her by the arm and began walking. Scully stumbled a bit at first, but stayed on her feet much to Mulder’s relief. She still hadn’t said anything beyond her comment about the cold, and Mulder was unsure about her state of awareness.

Did she know who he was? Did she know who she was, for that matter? Mulder didn’t know, and he was half afraid to find out. He decided to ask her a simple question to begin:

“Scully. Why did you come out here?”

There was a moment of silence before she was able to formulate an answer.

“I…I don’t know. Are we on a case?”

Mulder stopped dead. What was she talking about?

“’On a case’, Scully?”

He paused, turning to face her.

“What year is it?”

“Uh…” she murmured in response.

“What is my name?”

“M-Mulder.” She looked confused again, like she wondered why he thought she might not know his name.

He sighed as he heard his name escape her lips. Well, he thought, at least she knows me, even if she doesn’t know the year.

“I want to go. It’s cold.” She pulled her arm from his grasp and began going forward, albeit slowly – it was clear she didn’t know the way. Mulder began walking again while he wracked his brain for some hidden piece of information regarding medical conditions that may cause this weird sort of amnesia. Selective amnesia - she didn’t know the year, but she knew my name? He thought. Is that even a thing?

“Damn it, Scully. I’m not the doctor,” he said ruefully. She only glanced at him with another puzzled look.

It seemed a shorter walk back than it had been to where he found Scully, and Mulder was relieved to see the house in the distance as they got nearer. The snow was a couple inches deep now, and Mulder was certain his toes would never feel warmth again. He could only imagine how cold Scully was.

When they reached the house, he led her into the living room and got her comfortable on the couch. She kicked her black heels off and curled her feet beneath her.

He went to turn the heat up, and then built a fire in the fireplace. Scully’s whole body was shaking with cold, but her lips were pink again. He got a warm wet cloth and tried to wipe her face, but she avoided his hand, trying to grab the blue rag from him.

“I can do it,” she said. She wiped her face, and then rested the cloth against her forehead for a few seconds.

Mulder sat at her feet and put his hands over his face, trying to collect his thoughts. He figured it would be best if he ran a hot bath to try to warm her up more, but all he could think about was the fact that she seemed so damned confused. She was wearing her work clothes – like she’d been ready to head out the door to the hospital before she mysteriously went over that fence.

“Scully,” he said.

She looked at him expectantly.

“Why did you go into the woods?”

She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember doing it. I don’t remember anything. Where are we?” She looked around the room, trying to find something recognizable.

“We’re at home,” he replied simply. He didn’t want to say too much – it may confuse her more.

He began to make a list in his head:

-She knows me.

-She does not know this house.

-She seems to know herself.

“Scully, what year is it?” he asked again, hoping for an answer this time.

“Uh…I’m not entirely sure, Mulder.” Her voice went up, like she’d asked a question; her face began to flush. Mulder could tell she was beginning to panic. She started breathing more rapidly, and her eyes were darting around at a rapid pace.

Mulder laid a hand on one of her feet, rubbing slightly to get her attention.

“Scully, I’ve got to take you to the hospital. You’re not well.”

“I’m fine, Mulder. I just…I need to rest. I’ll be fine.”

He knew she’d protest, but he wasn’t willing to sit around and wait for her to disappear while he was sleeping again.

“Come on, let’s get you in some warmer clothes and some boots, then we’ll go.”

He led her upstairs and put some warm clothes in the bathroom so she could change. He waited, sitting on the bed, while she got dressed. He briefly thought to request to examine her body for wounds, but decided against it. She wasn’t even agreeable to letting him wipe her face, so he was sure she wouldn’t put up with being examined by him.

In the car, she fell asleep. He tried hard to keep her awake, playing music and talking to her – but it did no good. He was worried it would do her harm, with her memory being in such a weird state. He was relieved when she woke up as he pulled into a parking spot outside the emergency entrance of the small community hospital.

He got out and went around to her side, where she already had the door open.

“I’ve got it, Mulder,” she said, climbing out of the car clutching the door for balance.

Walking to the doors, she paused and placed her hand over her nose.

Mulder looked and saw blood seeping through her tightly closed fingers, dripping down her knuckles.

He picked up his pace, pulling her along by her other hand, ignoring the fear that shot through his veins making his whole body ache.

Suddenly he was pulled back as she fell to the asphalt. Her eyes were white, and she began to convulse. Her muscles tensed up and Mulder was forced to let go of her hand that was now bent in an awkward position. He reached for her head, but was too late: it hit the pavement with a painful smack. He stuck his right pointer finger into her mouth to keep her from biting her tongue.

“Scully!” Mulder yelled, knowing it would do no good. They had to ride the seizure out.

He was sure he was shaking almost as hard as she was as he watched her writhing on the black tar of the parking lot. 

Scully woke to a wall of mint green curtains. She followed them with her eyes all the way to the ceiling, and back down to the floor, where they brushed the discolored tile. She heard shuffling to her left and turned her head to the sound.

“Mulder? What the hell happened?” Her voice was hoarse with disuse, and she longed for a drink of water.

Mulder’s eyes were wide; his hands clutched a half-eaten sandwich.

“Uh… I’m not sure – you had a seizure in the parking lot – do you remember anything?” he asked, swallowing a small bite of dry bread and turkey.

Scully thought for a moment before answering.

“I never made it to work?” She didn’t remember anything after finishing a quick breakfast that morning. She even remembered the coffee mug she used: white with a blue chevron pattern – one of her favorites.

Mulder wrapped his sandwich back in its cellophane and placed it on his chair as he stood up. He ran his hands through his hair roughly while Scully looked on, concern flooding her thoughts.

“You left the house this morning, Scully – on foot. You took a little trip into the woods behind the house. I found your brown coat lying on a log; then I found you – cold and disoriented. I brought you here, and you had a seizure – “

“You found me…in the woods?” Scully cut him off, her face awash in disbelief. “What the hell was I doing in the woods?” She threw her hands out unable to make sense of what she was hearing. She struggled to sit up more, and Mulder took her hands and tugged slightly. Her head throbbed, but she ignored it as she began to go through diagnoses – conditions she knew may cause temporary dementia or seizures:

A hematoma, meningitis or other infections, stress, sleeplessness, any number of autoimmune disorders; had she hit her head during her apparent foray into the forest? The possibilities were numerous, Scully knew. A few of them she could rule out, but she still felt overwhelmed.

“Have they run any tests?” She was now desperate for answers and was quickly making a mental list of things to check for when she was able to get her hands on her chart. “Ask them for my chart – I need to see what they’ve done.”

“They ran numerous blood tests, performed an MRI and a CT scan – I was told they all came back normal.” Mulder placed a calming hand on her forearm.

“But that doesn’t make any sense – this kind of thing just doesn’t happen to a relatively healthy person without cause.”

Mulder was glad to have Scully return from whatever darkness she’d been shrouded in earlier this morning, but he was eager to calm her down. And he still hadn’t mentioned her nose bleeds. He was sure this information would only make things worse. He was almost sure she hadn’t thought of it – her cancer, but it was the one thing that kept coming back to him. He kept picturing her at the dinner table the previous evening, telling him she didn’t feel well, rubbing her neck right where that god-awful piece of metal and circuitry lay just beneath her skin.

“I’ll go get a nurse, tell them you’re awake.” Mulder left Scully’s area, pulling the curtain closed again. He was overcome by an intense desire to vomit as his fear of raising the issue of cancer to Scully increased. He knew, logically, that he’d have to say something sooner or later – well, either that or she’d come to the realization on her own. He hoped it ended up being the latter.

He soon found a nurse and led her back through the curtains to Scully’s spot in the Emergency department.

“Hi, Miss Scully? Good to see you’re awake! I’m Nurse Barrows.” She shuffled the few steps to the I.V. stand and examined the transparent bag filled with saline. She looked down to Scully who was following her every move.

“How are you feeling? Any headache? You may have one for a couple hours. You know, you hit your head on the pavement out there; you may have a little bump. I’ll go tell the doctor you’re awake and we’ll see about getting you home.”

Nurse Barrows rambled on, taking a look at Scully’s head and then patting her on the arm before leaving.

Mulder stood with his cheeks filled with air, unsure of what to say.

“I…I guess now we wait for the doc,” Mulder said quietly, clapping his hands together while taking his seat again.

Scully covered her eyes with her left hand and brought it down to her chin in a rough massage.

“Mulder, I’ll be fine.” She knew he’d roll his eyes, and that’s exactly what he did.

“You…you were out in the snow, sans coat, and unable to remember where we lived, Scully. That doesn’t sound ‘fine’ to me! Not to mention I’ve now witnessed two nose bleeds since this morning.”

It slipped out, and he kicked himself for letting it happen. It was Scully’s turn to scoff.

“Mulder, nose bleeds don’t mean anything. It happens with seizures sometimes. Who is to say I don’t just need to calm down with work? This could all be explained by stress. My work load has been heavy lately.”

As she finished speaking, the doctor walked in. He was a tall man, dressed in scrubs that were the same color as the curtains.

“Hi there,” he said with an out-of-place animation to his voice. “Miss Scully – I’m sorry, Doctor Scully? I’m Doctor Long. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Scully answered quickly, “if a little tired. If possible, I’d like to see my chart.”

Dr. Long nodded in assent before explaining to her, as Mulder had, that all tests they’d run had come back perfectly normal.

“I see,” Scully replied. “I’d just like to see for myself – I’m sure you understand.”

He chuckled before replying, “Yes, I do. We do make the worst patients!” His lame joke fell on deaf ears, so he handed a thin folder to Scully. “Here you go. Let me know if you have questions after looking them over.

“I think you’re safe to go home now, Dr. Scully. I’ll tell the nurse to come take your I.V. out and we’ll get your discharge papers prepared.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Scully replied while beginning to scan the chart in her folder.

It was standard fare, she thought. Blood work done and normal. MRI done. CT scan done.

It all appeared normal, just like she’d been told. She was sure she’d spot something amiss, but she found she could see nothing out of the ordinary. She silently put the folder down on her lap and sighed when the nurse came in.

“Hope you’ll be feeling yourself soon. I’d take it easy tonight – go to bed early. You’ll probably not feeling like doing much of anything anyway.” The nurse spoke quickly while removing the needle in Scully’s arm and covering the spot with a Band-Aid. “The doctor has given instructions to call us if anything goes wrong in the next week or so. Otherwise, you’re good to go home, Miss Scully.”

Leaving the hospital, Mulder insisted Scully be pushed in a wheelchair, and she acquiesced only after he refused to move until she did.

“I know…I know. You’re fine.” Mulder muttered as he pushed her to the car.

Scully wasn’t going to let on that she wasn’t so sure.


	3. Chapter 3

After making her morning coffee, Scully thought about her plans for the day. Sinking into the worn wooden chair and placing her arms on the table, she cupped her hands around the hot coffee cup. The phone was to her right, waiting patiently as she mulled her idea over. 

The decision to call her co-worker, a fellow doctor at Our Lady of Sorrows named Laura Nair, and asking for a favor had occurred to her on the way home from the hospital the previous day. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Doctor Long, or the tests that had been done – she just knew there was more that could be done.

A lumbar puncture was something Scully felt was a good idea. It was used to diagnose a number of illnesses, and if anything was truly the matter concerning her health, Scully felt this was the most complete way of finding out what that something may be. She didn’t want to mention it to Mulder – he would just worry and demand to come along. She wanted to do this alone. It was better this way, Scully reasoned – Mulder would only jump to conclusions and demand she live the rest of her days in some germ-free bubble.

She smiled wryly, mentally picturing Mulder covering the house in plastic. She knew her thoughts were hyperbolic, but she still felt it was best not to bring her worries up with Mulder until she had definitive answers.

“I’m driving you to work, if you insist on going in,” Mulder murmured beneath his hands as he walked into the kitchen, hair sticking straight up. His gray t-shirt was wrinkled, and the left leg of his pajama pants was bunched around the ankle. She reminded him of a child just then, and couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to William: did his hair stick straight up in the mornings, too?

She squashed the thought quickly with a swig of now lukewarm coffee. She still hadn’t made the call she wanted to. 

“All right,” she answered – she wasn’t in the mood to argue. “I want to leave in half an hour or so. They’re expecting me around nine.”

She’d called the hospital yesterday afternoon to explain her absence. They were all sympathetic and wished her well, and now that Mulder was sitting at the table with her, she wished she’d gone ahead and spoken to Dr. Nair yesterday when she’d had the chance. Mulder had gone straight to his office after getting her set up on the couch to nap. He’d said he still had a lot of work to do on a chapter of his book, and Scully found relief in the time alone. She had fallen asleep quickly, and was only woken when Mulder requested that she eat dinner and get into bed.

Now, she looked at the phone, repeating the phone number of the hospital in her head like a mantra. She rubbed her left hand over her eyes and took another sip of coffee. She’d have to excuse herself to make the call – Mulder was making toast and apparently planned to sit there for a bit.

“I’ll be right back,” Scully said, taking the phone off the table and standing up, hiding it behind her back. “Too much coffee.”

Once in the bathroom upstairs, she sat on the edge of the tub and dialed.

“Dr. Nair, please.” She asked when someone picked up.

“Just one moment. She just got in.”

Scully listened to the instrumental butchering of some 80’s pop song while she waited on hold. Finally, Laura Nair answered the phone.

“Dr. Nair speaking,” she said in an even voice – Scully liked her a lot. She was smart, to the point, and highly intuitive when it came to making difficult diagnoses.

“Hi, it’s Dana Scully. Is your schedule full today? I…I have a favor to ask.”

Scully found she was nervous – it felt to her like she was asking someone to commit a crime. It was only a medical procedure – a test – nothing illegal about it. But she couldn’t shake the guilt of hiding it all from Mulder. He was concerned about her – willing to drive her all the way into town just so he’d be sure she’d gotten there safely.

But no, she thought, if he knew she was having this done, she would never hear the end of it. It was better to do it alone.

“I’ve got some free time this morning, actually. Why?” Dr. Nair’s curiosity was peaked.

“I’m sure you heard about my day yesterday – I just…I was wondering if you would be willing to perform a lumbar puncture on me. They didn’t do one yesterday, but I…I want to be thorough.”

Dr. Nair had no clue about Scully’s past, just like everyone else in the hospital. They knew she used to work for the FBI as a field agent, but Scully had avoided talking about her medical history. How would she explain sudden remission on a supposedly inoperable tumor without mentioning the chip in her neck? She knew she never wanted to have a conversation about that with anyone. It was best to avoid it all together.

“Um…I think I can fit you in. 11:00 okay?” Dr. Nair, to Scully’s relief, didn’t ask many questions.

“Yes, perfect. I’ll meet up with you when I get to work. Thanks, Laura.”

Scully let out a huff of air and rested her arms on her legs as she hung up the phone. There, it was scheduled and it hadn’t been a big fuss like she’d worried it would be. It was quite lucky Dr. Nair had been available, she thought. She’d expected to have to wait a few days at least.

She wandered back downstairs to find Mulder now wearing a pair of jeans. His hair was flat again, she noted, as she watched him tying his boots.

“You ready?” he asked, standing up from the table.

“Yep. Don’t let me forget my bag.” Scully headed for the door, grabbing her briefcase from the couch as she went. She hoped he didn’t notice her face was slightly flushed. In the bathroom, she’d tried to calm down before heading downstairs, but she wasn’t able to dull the redness in her cheeks.

The drive to Our Lady of Sorrows was quiet, Mulder asking her several times if she was sure she wanted to go into work.

“Yes, Mulder. I will be all right. I work in a hospital – there are doctors there, you know. If anything happens, I’ll make sure you’re called.”

He huffed at her response, but accepted it reluctantly. He chewed on a sunflower seed as he drove; looking at Scully every few minutes like he was afraid she’d suddenly float away and disappear. 

As they reached the hospital, Scully put a hand on his right shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure him. She could tell he was nervous about leaving her, but she silently willed him not to ask to stay.

“I’ll call you around lunch time – go home and get some work done.” Scully gave his cheek a light kiss before she exited the car; she looked back as she went inside, giving him a smile.

——-

She’d been given a hospital gown to wear, and now she lay in the fetal position on a bed near Dr. Nair’s office. The prick of the needle as the local anesthesia was administered was nothing compared to her sudden fear.

Dr. Nair pushed the hollow needle between Scully’s third and fourth lumbar vertebrae. She held her breath as her cerebrospinal fluid traveled through the needle, collecting in a vial. 

In Scully’s mind she saw it glowing, bright and hopeful, with the answers she hoped to have within her reach soon. 

\-----

“Power’s off,” came the voice through the radio – it popped with static as the ‘talk’ button was released.

“Good. We’ve only got an hour or so – you all know what to do.” Frank, a tall man with graying temples and a salt and pepper beard, walked into the living room of the country house and watched as the three other men on the job scurried like rats to their posts.

Sam had been sent outside to cut the power, and to keep watch. Mark was in charge of wiring the mics to the outlets; Ethan was tasked with the computer in the office.

“Sam – let us know if you see the car coming up to the gate. It’ll give us time to wrap this up and get out before he makes it up the hill.” Frank’s voice crackled through the radio again as Sam made his way to the line of bushes in the front yard. He scouted the best place to keep watch of the gate far down the driveway, and squatted in position.

“Copy that,” he answered.

Inside the house, Mark– who was in his mid-twenties and so fair-haired that he was teased and called albino – donned his leather gloves and began removing the outlet covers they’d designated before, on a blueprint to the house – two in the kitchen, two in the living room, and two in the office area. They’d decided that these rooms were most likely the ones most frequented – the information being collected would be most useful.

“Who cares when the hell they brush their teeth?” Frank had said, when they’d outlined the plan, excluding the upstairs bedroom and bathroom – for the time being.

Ethan, the resident computer hacker of the crew, made his way into the office. He paused to look at his surroundings:

Newspaper clippings littered the walls. They were in no particular order that he could see – a Bigfoot mention here, an alien baby story from the National Enquirer next to it – it looked to Ethan like a room in an insane asylum; the trappings of someone not ‘all there’. He noticed the pencils in the dropped ceiling panels and shook his head.

He eased into the worn chair in front of the computer, but not before brushing off some sunflower seed shells.

“Jesus, man, use a trash can,” he murmured to himself.

He quickly went to work, pulling out a tiny flash drive and inserting it into the USB port of the computer tower.

“How long till the power’s back up?” he asked, anxious to get started before they had to leave. They’d have to come back if he wasn’t able to finish – and he just wanted to be done with the job. He was nervous about being caught – though he was working for the government – he wasn’t entirely trustful that he wouldn’t face repercussions if this Mulder guy happened to catch them in his home.

“We’re finishing up in the living room now,” Mark said, and Ethan could tell by the shake in his voice that he was nervous as well.

Ethan bounced his right knee up and down while he waited, scanning the walls for something interesting to read. He happened upon an article from a newspaper in Arizona – The Daily Dispatch – about UFO sightings. Seeing the massive collection of information, he quickly understood why this guy was such a threat to the plans Ethan’s bosses hadn’t exactly shared with him. He’d shrugged his lack of information off, only happy to get paid more than he would’ve been getting at the insurance company’s office where he’d been an IT for several years.

“All right, Sam, done with the outlets – flip the switch,” Frank’s voice jolted Ethan out of his revere, and he waited a few minutes until he heard Sam announce the power back on.

Ethan pressed the power button on the computer tower and listened as the machine hummed to life. The monitor button was hit as well, and he was soon met with a login screen.

“Easy enough,” he said. He inserted the password-cracking software he’d created himself and waited for it to run, giving him a list of possible passwords.

He began trying each of them, and finally got in – “ekihorf1013” worked like a charm. The Windows desktop appeared, and he was quickly on his way to copying files to the USB drive. He selected every folder he could find, and made sure to view any hidden files – of which there were very large amounts – though none were password-protected.

This guy is definitely trying to hide something – maybe not from us, but he’s quite secretive, he said to himself. He was pleasantly surprised that, apparently, the computer wasn’t exactly secure – most people had at least a firewall up.

This guy’s supposed to be super-paranoid? he asked the empty room. Sure doesn’t look that way from the state of his PC.

When the files had finished copying, he pulled out the flash drive and shut the computer down, making sure to keep everything as it had been when he’d arrived. He took one last glance at the cluttered room before walking out to Frank and Mark, who were waiting at the front door.

“Done. Let’s get out of here,” Ethan said, and they called for Sam to follow as they made their way back through the woods, walking in a wide arc back around to the road that ran in front of the house. The vehicle sat on the side of the road about a mile and a half from the house, with a white flag in the window in case anyone decided to investigate.

“That was almost too easy,” Frank said as they got into the beat up Toyota Corolla. He reached in his pocket for his cell phone and dialed the now-familiar number.

“We’ve done our bit,” he said to the person who answered. “We’ll send any information we dig up, as agreed.”


	4. Chapter 4

The gravel crunched under the tires as Mulder pulled the car up to the house. The keys jingled as he walked up the front steps and unlocked the door. The air was icy cold, and he sighed as he went inside. Warm weather would be great right about now, he thought.

He shivered as he walked to his office and shut the door – more out of habit than any great need for privacy in an empty house. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and tossed it on the desk, then took a seat in his chair in front of the computer. He pulled out a small flash drive from his front shirt pocket and inserted it into the USB drive.

His book was moving along smoothly. He was actually surprised at how easy it was to recount his history with the X-files. Words came quickly, and he found it cathartic. Now in a place of relative peace, it was much easier to look back at the road that had led him and Scully to this very house.

He rubbed his hands together then stretched his fingers before looking at the keyboard. He was up to only his time with Diana Fowley. When beginning to write, he made the conscious decision to start with the disappearance of Samantha. It was logical to do so, and he didn’t feel he could omit the beginning of his journey.

From the E drive, he clicked on the only folder in the drive. A number of various documents were saved here – things Mulder didn’t want to save on the computer. Mostly digitized X-files -things he knew Scully may not want to come across were she to use the computer.

 

He scrolled to the bottom of the list and clicked on the document he’d named, simply, ‘x’. The words he’d written soon filled the screen, and he scrolled up to the beginning to re-read what he’d written:

“My sister Samantha was taken when she was eight years old. This traumatizing event changed my life forever, as well as that of my mother and father. Samantha and I were home alone one evening - our parents had left us to go to a neighbors’ home.

I am well aware that memory is faulty – that emotions, false information, and dreams can play a role in shaping how a memory is stored in the brain. The blinding light outside our front door, the image of Samantha floating in mid-air, surrounded by light, making it appear as though she was an angel – these memories are more than likely something I created to explain the unknown. Regardless, my life has been spent looking for answers that I now know are greater in scope than I ever imagined.”

Mulder sighed and stopped reading. He was still unsure about the opening paragraphs, but decided not to tackle them today. He decided it was a day to write about something far easier – at least in relation to Samantha: he decided to write about Diana’s decision to leave him in the basement office. His loss of a partner whom he’d trusted was far easier at the moment to focus on than his sister; or Scully, for that matter. He found he was almost dreading entering Scully territory when it came to writing this book – or whatever it would be. Her own story, alongside his own, loomed so large in his mind that he was pretty sure could make its own project.

He rubbed the palms of his hands against his thighs, the denim creating a fuzzy feeling on his skin. His cheeks filled with air as he thought about what he knew he needed to do.

He needed to come clean – tell Scully he was writing all this down. She didn’t deserve to be left in the dark, especially when he began to recount her story. He wondered if she’d want to write herself. He thought maybe it could be good that way. Her perspective did deserve to be heard.

But he was scared.

He wasn’t sure how she’d react to the documentation of all that had gone on. Would she want to face her past in such a detailed way? Would she want to dredge up memories she’d since been able to bury in her subconscious? He wasn’t so sure. But he knew he’d have to bring it up soon. Guilt was always so heavy to lug around – and he knew this very well.

He got up, grabbing a handful of sunflower seeds on his way out. Forgoing his coat, he walked to the front porch and sat in the lone rocker left there by previous owners. It was once white, but most of the paint had long since flaked off. Mulder rocked once, and then stilled his chair. He caught the sight of a foot print in the snow.

Getting up, he walked towards the spot and frowned. Bending over, he saw the distinct outline of a shoe. He didn’t own any Converse sneakers, and neither did Scully. He searched for more, but it appeared as though they’d been hastily covered. He stood up straight and looked around for any sign of another person nearby. There was nothing. Only forest, and the glimpse of the road beyond the bushes.

—-

Scully stared up at the ceiling from her hospital bed recovering from the procedure. Her head was pounding, but she expected this. Her body was motionless, and she’d been drifting in and out of sleep for the last hour.

Now, she was dying to move, and she moved her eyes down to her feet, where she moved her toes slightly. She sighed heavily and brought her eyes back to the ceiling. She rolled to her right side, making sure not to lift her head. She could feel the slight tug of the tape sticking to her skin where the bandage had been placed over the puncture site on her back. It itched slightly, and she longed to remove it.

A nurse – Scully wasn’t sure of her name – came in and checked her vitals. Scully was relieved that she’d had no dizziness – only a headache.

“Dr. Scully, I brought you some water – need to keep you hydrated, as you know.”

Scully gratefully reached for the cup that was being offered and took a few sips from the white bendy straw.

“Thanks,” she said, “I’m definitely ready to sit up.”

The nurse nodded and moved to elevate Scully’s bed slightly. 

“Are you experiencing any numbness or tingling? Nausea?” the nurse asked, as she looked at Scully’s chart.

“No, nothing like that, thankfully,” Scully replied with a slight smile.

“Well, as soon as you’re feeling ready, we can get you home. Just hit the button and I’ll come help you.”

“Okay. I’m…I’m almost ready, I think.” Scully had already decided to call Mulder and ask him to come get her earlier than they’d planned. She didn’t want to be at the hospital all day. She wouldn’t be able to work, anyway. What was the use?

“Can you hand me my bag? I need to call someone for a ride home.”

“Sure! Again, just let me know, and I’ll help you up!”

The nurse left as Scully began dialing Mulder’s cell phone. He answered after a few rings – she figured he was in his office, buried in things she could only imagine.

“Hello?” He answered, sounding slightly distracted.

“Mulder, it’s me. You mind coming back out here in about an hour?”

 

There was a pause before he answered – Scully figured she’d interrupted something he wasn’t quite ready to lose focus on.

“Scully… uh, yeah. In an hour. I’ll be there. Out front?”

“That’s fine. See you then.”

Scully ended the call and laid her head heavily against the pillows. Well, she thought, at least Mulder would be busy in his office – she could go upstairs and sleep the afternoon away. She knew she’d have to answer for her lethargy, but she didn’t care at the moment.

—-

Mulder pulled up outside the hospital entrance where Scully and a nurse were waiting. Confused at the sight of her in a wheelchair yet again, he stopped the car and got out, hastily making his way to the passenger side to open the door. The nurse helped Scully stand and Mulder guided her to the car.

Scully gingerly sat in the seat and pulled her arm and legs in as Mulder shut the door. She closed her eyes briefly with the anticipation of the conversation that was sure to ensue. When he was back in the driver’s seat, Mulder looked over at her and frowned.

“Did you feel sick? You shouldn’t have gone in.”

“I had a lumbar puncture done. I’m not sick – at least I don’t think I am.”

“A spinal tap? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come with you.”

“It’s all right, Mulder. I just wanted it done by someone I trusted – Dr. Nair did this as a favor. I’m just trying to be thorough – to rule out anything medical regarding yesterday.” She paused to swallow. “I’m…I’ll be okay – I just need to take it easy for a bit.”

Mulder sighed, and Scully was surprised when he didn’t follow with another argument. She was even more surprised by what came out of his mouth instead.

“There was someone in our front yard today – while we were on our way here earlier this morning. You don’t own any Chuck Taylors do you, Scully?”

“Someone…someone in our yard? Why?” She ignored the question regarding shoes and went straight for the more vital point.

“I don’t know. I only found one print in the snow at the front of the house. The rest were covered.”

“No sign of breaking in, I take it?”

“No, nothing. I know I locked the door when we left. I remember unlocking it when I returned. Not even a glove missing, Scully. Maybe whoever it was didn’t get inside.”

Mulder thought this unlikely, but he said it anyway, more to comfort himself than anything. He put the car in drive and began the trip home.

“What should we do, Mulder? We can’t really call the police – all you found was a shoe print.” Scully rubbed her eyes and put her hands in her lap, forming fists that clutched her thumbs. Mulder took his right hand from the steering wheel and put it over her own. She looked at him with heavy eyes, weary and disheartened.

“Did you go through the house? Completely?” She wasn’t sure she’d feel comfortable taking the nap she’d been dreaming about if she thought there had been someone in the house.

“I did. There is no sign of anyone having been there. Don’t…worry. I’ll take care of it.”

\----

Ethan remembered the meeting weeks before the job. He’d been called by his friend, Sam. They were both looking for work, and Ethan had been grateful that Sam had thought to call him. Sam had asked Ethan to meet him at a hotel near the Dulles airport for a meeting about a potential job. Sam had not said much over the phone, but he did say that it would take care of Ethan’s rent for at least a few months.

Ethan didn’t hesitate. He was barely scraping by after being laid off at his previous job. It hadn’t been easy, but he had been able to make his rent by sheer luck every month. This job would also get him off his mom’s back – he felt guilty for being such a burden. He’d been eating all his meals at her place – once almost deciding to move back in, but his mother’s boyfriend didn’t care for that idea, so he stayed in his apartment.

The hotel was nothing special – a Holiday Inn off of Highway 267. It was a brown, three- story building with plain curtains hanging in every window. Ethan and Sam met up in the parking lot before heading inside.

“So, Sam. You didn’t say much before – what exactly will we be doing?”

Sam was finishing his cigarette, flicking the last bit of ash to the pavement near their feet. He took a last drag before answering.

“I told them you’re good with computers – they seemed interested in what you could do. I’m not entirely sure of the details, but they were promising a lot of money for a little bit of work.”

He flicked the cigarette into the bushes by the entrance. Ethan made a face and nearly bent to pick it up and place it in the receptacle by the automatic doors.

“So…they want some software installed? Virus removed? What?”

“I don’t know, really. We’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”

The two men made their way to Conference Room A – Ethan figured there was no Conference Room B – it was a very small hotel. The conference room had a small wooden table with six chairs surrounding it. A whiteboard covered one wall, and there was a counter by the door holding a coffee maker. The ugly upholstery on the chairs was a dank gray, and Ethan found the room pretty depressing.

They were the first to arrive, and they took their seats, facing the door. While he waited, Ethan wanted to question Sam some more about the job, but could tell he’d get no answers. Sam hadn’t known whether this was for a company, or if it was some asshole wanting to check on his supposedly cheating wife. Ethan felt uneasy, but was willing to sit through a meeting if it meant a potential paycheck.

He was just about to get up and start pacing when two men walked in. One was about Ethan’s height – 5’9” or so – the other was well over 6 feet. Ethan cowered in his chair slightly. Both were dressed in dark suits, and were each carrying binders. Forgoing pleasantries, they placed their things on the table without a word and took the two seats across from Sam and Ethan.

“Hello, gentlemen,” one of them began. Ethan assumed him to be in charge. The man opened his notebook and glanced at his cohort before turning his eyes back to the table.

“Ethan, right?” he asked, pointing a finger at Ethan’s chest.

“Uh. Yeah. Ethan Somerville.” Ethan cleared his throat and clasped his hands together in a nervous gesture. He wasn’t sure what to make of these people. One of them hadn’t even said a word yet, just sat there in front of his notebook with a disgruntled look on his face. 

“You have…previous experience as an IT professional, I have been told?”

“Yes. That’s right – I worked as the IT guy at an insurance office for sever-“

The man cut Ethan off.

“My sources tell me you do more covert work, as well – hacking, that kind of thing.”

Ethan squirmed in his seat – he wasn’t sure what to say – he had done some hacking back in college for pure entertainment – hacking into video games, hacking into ex-girlfriend’s emails.

“You can write software, I understand.” The man gestured to his notebook with his right hand. “We’re looking for someone who can extract files from a locked computer. It doesn’t sound difficult, but we’re expecting the computer to be well protected. We need someone who can breach any security that may have been put in place.” The man licked his lips and sat up straight, away from the table’s edge. He placed his hands on the notebook and waited for Ethan to respond.

“Honestly – I mean…” Ethan was extremely nervous now. Was this job even legal? He wondered to himself how Sam could’ve thought this would be a good idea. He was kicking himself now – he should’ve said no, no matter what the payout.

“I’ve not done much ‘hacking’ in years – since college. And it was only little stuff. But, yes. I do write software – mostly for my own amusement…” he trailed off, unsure of what else to add. The two men on the opposite side of the table glanced at each other then back at Ethan.

“You’ll do. We’ll pay $1,000 up front, and another $2,000 after the job is completed to our satisfaction.” It was the second man’s turn to speak now, and Ethan cowered again as his booming voice filled the room.

The first man spoke again, this time addressing Sam.

“Sam, you will be given your detailed assignment as we get closer. With your knowledge of electrical workings, I’m confident you’ll be able to handle what we have planned.”

Sam was a part-time service worker for Duke Power, and was simply waiting for business to pick up again when winter hit – there were always lots of power outages in the winter. It was just too calm at the moment, and Ethan guessed this was why he’d taken so eagerly to this potential job.

Sam nodded at the two men but chose not to say anything. Ethan wondered what else he knew about this that he wasn’t telling Ethan.

The larger man pulled two cell phones out of his jacket pocket. They were small flip phones that wouldn’t do much beyond call and text. He passed one to both Sam and Ethan, then laid his hands back on his notebook, waiting.

“Use the phone to contact us – and we will use them to contact you. Our contact information is already programmed in. Do not use these for any other purpose – we will find out and you’ll be removed from the job with no payout. The phones will be tracked, and calls will be recorded. Lose it, and we lose you. Got it?” 

Ethan and Sam nodded simultaneously. Ethan rose up slightly in the chair to slide the phone into his back pocket.

“We’ll be in touch as things progress. Do not contact us unless we request you do so. Thank you, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure.”

The two men got up and abruptly left the room without glancing back.

“What the fuck was that, man?” Ethan was breathing hard now and he yanked the phone back out of his pocket and thrust it into Sam’s face.

“What the hell have you gotten us into? Secret phones? Men in dark suits? This weird-as-shit meeting? It’s like some Men in Black bullshit!” He was seething now, his face red and splotchy. He was frustrated that Sam appeared to be much calmer about the whole fiasco.

“Calm down, man. It’s cool. They just want us to do a little bit of work. Nothing illegal – they assured me earlier. They’re some government division – don’t ask, I don’t know which one – it’s cool, okay?”

“’Government division’? What the hell does that mean? Just because they’re from the government doesn’t mean it’s legal. Do you not watch the news? Do you know how much sick shit goes on in D.C.?”

Ethan couldn’t control himself anymore. He got up and started pacing the room, occasionally looking at the phone he held in his hand. He nearly lost it when he heard Sam chuckling.

“What, you think they’re going to make us send pictures of our dicks to some young intern? Come ON, Ethan. Calm the hell down. It’s $3,000 that you don’t have right now, so I suggest you suck it up and do the job. You need that money and you know it.”

Ethan sighed and leaned against a wall. He did need the money, Sam was right.

“Okay. But how do we know they’re not setting us up to be arrested for some crime we don’t even know we’re committing?!? They’re asking me to break into someone’s computer, Sam.”

“Like I said, it’s some governmental thing – they need someone watched is all. Maybe you’ll be a hero and catch some Muslim terrorist bent on destroying America or some shit. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Sam stood up and headed for the door, stuffing the phone he’d received into his pocket as he walked. Ethan followed behind, heaving a heavy sigh as the door to Conference Room A shut behind them.

Now, sitting in his apartment, with this man’s personal files on a flash drive, he was nervous about what he may find. He knew nothing about this man – only knew his last name: Mulder. He knew he lived with some doctor, and that apparently someone thought he was up to no good.

Ethan inserted the flash drive into his computer and quickly began to peruse the files within. He was overwhelmed with the amount of data he’d retrieved, and decided to start with simple stuff: pictures.

He shook his head as he began – he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. He had been asked to take the data and analyze it for anything deemed questionable. He’d asked what ‘questionable’ meant to these people, but his questions were only met with silence.

Okay then, he thought as he scrolled through the photos, I’ll make my own judgments.

He was somewhat disappointed – there weren’t many photos, really. There were a few scanned photos that were obviously pretty old – a young kid and his sister together in front of a lake; another one of the same two individuals at a birthday party. From the looks of the clothing choices and hair, Ethan judged them to be from sometime in the 70’s. Was this Mr. Mulder and his sister? Ethan saw a few more shots of a house on a lake; the young Mr. Mulder at college somewhere.

Suddenly, Ethan’s attention was grabbed – there was Mr. Mulder with some woman –short, red hair, stern look on her face – they were wearing FBI jackets, looking at a folder together.

FBI? Who was this Mulder guy? Ethan immediately copied the photo into another folder so it would be easily found later. He saw one more of the red-headed woman – she was wearing a surgical mask around her neck and scrubs, hands on her hips – clearly not in the mood to have her picture taken by the annoyed look in her eyes.

The doctor he lives with? He wondered to himself. He was getting more intrigued by these people as he gained more insight. He copied that photo too, into his own documents folder – he liked this woman – she was very intriguing.

There were a few more photos of Mr. Mulder and Red-Head, as Ethan had decided to call her for the time being, and he kept scrolling until he saw a photo of a small baby. Wearing a blue outfit, Ethan assumed it was a boy. He was perched against some pillows on a striped couch, his attention held by the photographer. Staring intently, the baby’s mouth was fixed in a line, and his hands were clutching his toes. Ethan paused for a second. Nobody had mentioned a kid being involved – he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of fucking with a kid’s family – but he knew he had seen no evidence when he’d entered the house. How weird, he thought.

Ethan scrolled, expecting to see more, but there was only the one picture of the baby. He shrugged, deciding to leave that alone for the time being. He moved on to the files in the Documents folder.

There wasn’t much here, either, Ethan saw with some disappointment. Why had he gone to all this trouble for these…people…to get nothing? He wondered if he’d get paid the remaining $2,000 if he happened to find nothing of interest.

He opened the first folder in the directory and was inundated with nothing but videos.

It was fifteen or so videos of nothing but pornography.

“What the fuck?” Ethan leaned back in his chair and shook his head. It was not at all what he’d expected. He hesitantly clicked the first one, expecting to see something incredibly sick – child porn, something of that nature. As the video started, he was relieved to see it was standard, run-of-the-mill straight porn. 

He watched a few clips of several of the videos then decided they were probably all the same – completely legal, nothing this Mulder person should be investigated for.

“Why the fuck did they send me into this man’s house to steal his computer files for pornography?”

He reached for the small cell phone that had become a second appendage throughout his ‘job.’ He thought about dialing the number that always called him, talking to the people in charge – to see what the hell they wanted from him. He couldn’t send them videos of pornography. He was sure they weren’t interested in that. What the hell did they want? He just did not know.

He dialed Sam’s number and waited for him to pick up.

“Hello?” Sam said.

“Sam, hey, it’s Ethan. I need to talk about our little job. None of it is making any sense.”

“Find anything from the computer? I don’t know, man, I was hired to fuck with the power at the house. I don’t know what they’re looking for, really.” Ethan was struck by Sam’s blasé attitude; he was so damned calm about it all. Ethan figured he might have already gotten the remaining payment – Sam’s job had been completed at the house.

“This fucking guy apparently has a kid? He has nothing on his computer of interest – except for a couple photos of him and a lady in FBI jackets – is he FBI? What were we even hired to do this for? I would really like some goddamned answers right about now, Sam. It’s getting too weird. I don’t like it.”

Ethan waited for Sam to answer, and wasn’t too disappointed when Sam didn’t give him any useful information – it’s what he expected, really.

“Ethan, look. I ran into a guy while working in D.C. on a job at Duke Power. He was interested in what I did, and wanted to know if I’d be up for a job. He didn’t tell me anything beyond that, and I really don’t give a shit – I got paid, you’re getting paid. Who cares? Why do we keep having this conversation?”

“I just – I don’t like that we’re not being given the whole picture. It’s really fucking sketchy.” Ethan took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Sam wasn’t to blame. He simply wanted the money, and Ethan couldn’t blame him.

“Ethan, I don’t know what to tell you. I’d say try calling someone else, but I wouldn’t know where to begin. Look, just wait for their call, tell them what you found, and be done with it. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. They’ll probably be relieved. Just…chill the fuck out.”

Ethan hung up a short time later and plopped down on his worn sofa. The TV was off, and he didn’t think there would be anything on at two in the afternoon, so he left it off. He felt relief in staring at the walls in silence.

He began to think about the right course of action. He felt guilty for snooping into this seemingly innocent guy’s life. He was sure when he took the job that it was going to be some hard criminal who had a rap sheet longer than Ethan was tall. He kept thinking about Mr. Mulder, the Red-Head, and the mysterious photo of the baby. Is that what these guys he was working for were interested in? A family? Ethan didn’t know that he could stand by and watch a family be brought down, in part, by his actions.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Maybe he could go back to that house? Warn this guy that people were spying on him. Maybe he could do some good in the end, feel a little less guilty. Ethan toyed with the idea for a while, but was startled by the ring of the small cell phone tucked neatly in his shirt pocket.


	5. Chapter 5

Mulder slept on the couch in the living room for two nights after he’d found the footprint in the snow. He didn’t really sleep so much as pace the room, periodically looking out the front windows to watch for shadows or movement outside. To his dismay, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, and on the third morning, as he sat lethargic from lack of sleep, he decided it was probably time to move back to bed.

"Your paranoia is showing," Scully said as she plunked a mug of coffee on the table in front of Mulder.

She smirked at her little jab and watched as Mulder’s mouth went up at the corners in a sarcastic smile. His eyes were heavy, and he looked dazed. Scully slung her bag over her shoulder, her keys jangling in her left hand.

"I’m off to work. Don’t do anything stupid." She bent and planted a small kiss on Mulder’s temple, and before Mulder had the wherewithal to react, she was out the door.

Mulder sat for a while longer, enjoying the sleepy feeling, sipping his coffee. He supposed he should write today, seeing as how he hadn’t done anything productive for a while, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. Not when he was preoccupied with the shoe print.

The house was dark, and it suited him. It was a cloudy, gray day and the view through the opened curtains revealed that a bit more snow had fallen in the night. Not much, but enough to nearly cover the foot prints on the porch steps. The sun was barely visible through the clouds, casting a hazy glow over the snow that piled on every available surface.

Mulder stood up, wrapping his robe around him, tying the sash tighter to seal in warmth. He moved towards the door when the idea struck him. He hadn’t bothered searching the woods where he’d found Scully so dazed and confused days previous. He thought it might be a good idea to have a look around. He didn’t bother with a coat, figuring he wouldn’t be out long anyway; his robe would suffice. He slipped on the pair of running sneakers by the door, without socks, and trod out into the snowy yard, quickly retracing his steps to the fence.

No trace of days previous existed now. Like the front steps, it had all been covered by new snow, and this was what Mulder had expected. He kept moving, hopping over the fence again, and moving towards the clearing. It was tough without the incessant barking of that dog to lead him, but he made it easily enough. The forest seemed to have shrunk in size since his last visit, though he knew he was simply experiencing it away from the panic of finding Scully. He could still see the back of his house, barely peeping through the trees at him.

He stood in the middle of the clearing and did a slow circle, observing the trees that surrounded him. He scratched his head and lifted his eyebrows. Nothing here, he thought. No new footprints, except his own. He decided to move in the opposite direction of the house, making his way back admits the trees. The crunch of his shoes beneath the snow disrupted the quiet. He shivered a bit, and rubbed his hands along his arms as he walked.

He realized that he had never wondered what may lie beyond the house. Would he find another house or a highway? Or would he wander the entire time in the woods, reaching nothing of consequence?

He was close to turning around when he saw the old building. It looked abandoned, and Mulder assumed it was. There was no sign of life. As Mulder got closer, he could smell damp wood. Snow was piled high on the roof, and the aging door was barely hanging on its hinges. He opened the door gingerly and ducked to avoid hitting his head on the door frame as he entered.

It was empty, as he expected, except for a rusty aluminum chair in the corner. There was nothing on the walls, and the floor was packed dirt. There was no window to let air or light in – Mulder was thankful he’d left the door open; he was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic.

He peered at the floor and noticed something odd. It was four imprints in the dirt – four small rings. Mulder connected the dots in his head – it formed a rectangle. A table must have stood here once upon a time, he thought. He looked, but saw no footprints but his own – again. He was getting frustrated, so he shook his head and walked back outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

————————————-

Ethan told the men about the two photos – both of the FBI agents. He figured that’s all they’d be interested in. He told them about everything else, but they acted like they either didn’t care, or already knew – Ethan wasn’t sure which.

“You’re done. The phone you have will be disconnected and will no longer be operational after this call is completed. The money you were promised will arrive in the next few days. Thank you for your time.” The man on the other line spoke quickly, and after Ethan heard the call end, he was stunned – he hadn’t been able to ask anything regarding his job, these people he’d gotten information about for these men. It was difficult for him to believe that this whole thing was entirely decent.

He wanted to find out more – who were these people who lived in that house? Why were they so important that this so-called ‘government agency’ would hire some kid off the street to do a tiny hacking job on the guy’s computer? He knew there had to be more he didn’t know. He thought for a brief minute to let it go. It was really none of his business – he didn’t know these people, and they meant nothing to him. But then he figured if it was his family, he’d be grateful for someone to at least make them aware of the fact that they were under investigation.

That was the whole thing, really: if this was a project sanctioned by the U.S. government, why all the secrecy? Why the bugging of this guy’s house? It smelled rotten to Ethan, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go, no matter what common sense told him to do.

He knew it would be a bad idea to go back to that house – it was bugged, as he well knew. These government men, if that’s what they were, would definitely know he’d been back to talk to these people. It was safer to keep a distance if he could. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it, but there had to be a way to contact Mr. Mulder and his family.

He went back to his computer and and studied the photos some more. He almost wished they were hard copies – sometimes people wrote things on the back like names or dates. He recalled that the woman was a doctor – at least that’s what he figured. He began searching for hospitals in the area, hoping to find some information on each of the establishments’ staff online. It was an hour into his search before he came across Our Lady of Sorrows, a private Catholic hospital. He went through the motions as he had for the previous sites.

The main page was nothing but general information about treatments available. He ignored it and instead focused on the top of the page, where several options were available: Service, Locations, Find a Doctor, and Patients and Visitors. He clicked on Find a Doctor, but was stumped – he didn’t know this woman’s name, or her specialty. He tried typing the last name ‘Mulder’ but nothing came up. So, she wasn’t a ‘Mulder’ – he could rule that out, not that it helped much. He decided to start at the beginning of the Specialties list: Cardiologist. He scrolled, through but didn’t see the woman’s face. He scrolled through several options – Internist, OBG/YN, before landing on Pediatrics.

Near the bottom of the Pediatrics list, he found her. She was slightly older than in the photos she had, but it was unmistakable – she was the same woman. With slightly longer hair, she still wore the same serious look, lines around her mouth as she gave a small smile to the camera. He moved his eyes to the right, landing on her name. Dr. Dana Scully.

He had what he needed: her name, her place of work. He could find her, maybe warn her, and these men he’d worked for wouldn’t know – at least he hoped not. He made plans to try to meet up with her at the hospital the next day. He didn’t want to scare her, but he had to try. Surely it would be better than doing nothing. Mr. Mulder and Dr. Scully seemed like normal people on paper. She was a doctor with a career, he was…well, Ethan wasn’t sure what Mr. Mulder did, but he saw nothing in the house or on his computer that would suggest that either the man or the woman were anything but boring adults with boring jobs and questionable, at worst, porn habits.

———

The following day, Scully was nervous about getting to work. She knew her test results were due to come back, and she was half afraid to read them.

Dr. Nair greeted her at lunch, as they both stood in line at the cafeteria waiting to purchase turkey sandwiches and Jell-O with fruit floating in it. Scully poked at the Jell-O on her tray, making the grape under her finger dance. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she’d forgotten her lunch that morning, her nerves already fried after not getting much sleep the night before.

“Dana, we’ve got your test results – do you have time to come to my office after we eat? We can discuss them in private.”

Scully nodded and handed the cashier her money.

“Have you looked at them yourself?” she asked her colleague.

“No, I thought we could do that together. I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t worry, Dana. I’m sure everything’s fine.” Dr. Nair had paid for her meal and made her way back upstairs while Scully sat and ate in silence. The Jell-O was better than she’d thought.

An hour later, she was knocking on the door to Dr. Nair’s office.

“Laura, is this a good time?” she asked as she entered, seeing that Dr. Nair was going over a patient’s chart.

“Perfect, I’ve got about twenty minutes until I’m due in surgery. We’ve got time to look at the results together.” She pulled out a manila envelope stamped with Scully’s name. Unclasping the envelope, she slipped out the white paper that held the array of figures holding all the information Scully was now itching to look over. She held out her hand and Dr. Nair handed her the forms.

Scully’s eyes trailed over it all. She trailed her finger down the list, nodding as she went.

CSF was clear. Pressure was 100 mm H20, Glucose measured to be 75 mg/100 mL. Scully gave a small nod and kept reading. CSF white cell count was 5, and no red blood cells were found. She read on and found herself relaxing back into the chair.

Everything was normal. It was such a relief – she wouldn’t have to go home and tell Mulder something terrible was growing her body, or that she had three months to live. Everything was fine. She handed the sheet back to Dr. Nair and sighed.

“Ah, great news, huh?” Dr. Nair looked over the form and gave a small smile. “See? Nothing to worry about! You were probably just exhausted – it happens sometimes, especially in our line of work. I hope you’re able to take it easy at home – no kids running around?”

It wasn’t often that people at work asked Scully about her personal life, and she didn’t see any reason to share it with anyone. Questions like this sometimes came up, and she answered them as best she could. A simple yes or no usually sufficed.

“Ah, no. No kids. I sleep when I’m at home. That’s it, really. Otherwise, I’m here.” She stood up, finding herself ready to get out of the office before more questions came up.

“Thanks, Laura, for everything. I really appreciate your help with this. I hope we can forget it had to happen.”

Scully shook Dr. Nair’s hand and gave a small nod before leaving the office. She went straight to her own office and pulled out her cell phone, hitting Mulder in her contacts.

“Mulder,” she said when he picked up. “It’s all normal. I’m fine.” She almost grinned, but was able to keep the corners of her mouth still, only quivering slightly.

“That’s great, Scully. Good to hear.” Scully thought he sounded kind of odd, but brushed it off. She’d probably interrupted him working.

“I’ll pick up something for dinner on my way home – I’ve got no appointments for the rest of the day so I’m leaving early.” Scully brushed some stray hair out of her eyes and reached for her purse, tucking the phone between her chin and shoulder.

“Yeah, Scully. Sounds good. I’ll see you later.”

Scully ended the call and checked her pockets for her keys. She made it to the parking garage before the grin she’d suppressed appeared. Her walk quickened as she reached her car, but stopped dead when she heard a voice.

“Hey.”

Scully looked around, her adrenaline shooting up her spine like wildfire. She spotted someone peeking out from behind a pillar, not far from her car. He came around and started to come closer. Scully held her hand up.

“Don’t move.” Her authority surprised Ethan. He froze in place and stared, unsure of what to do or say.

“I…I just…I want to..” he kicked himself for stammering. Why was he so scared?

“What do you want?” Scully asked, eyeing him. She took in his blue jeans and baseball cap, and his Virginia Tech t-shirt. She paid special attention to his footwear – they were Teva sandals, not Converse. Her hand was still in the air, acting as a shield in case he came closer. She was a little out of practice dealing with unexpected visitors, but she knew she needed to keep him far away. She didn’t carry a weapon, but she was sure she could hit him with enough force to keep him off if need be.

The man just stood, frozen, as someone came down the stairs into the parking area where Scully and this stranger were staring each other down. The stranger’s eyes followed the newcomer, an older man, as he made his way to his own vehicle. The old man paused for a minute, taking in the situation he’d just walked into.

“Are you okay?” he asked Scully, who still had her hand up.

“I’m fine.” She answered, and edged toward her car. She felt safe doing this now that there was someone else nearby. The stranger still hadn’t moved, and Scully entered her car and turned the engine on.

As she backed out, she watched as the stranger still stood, staring at her as she drove away. 

\---

Mulder didn’t mention the cabin he’d found on his walk. He didn’t see any need to. Scully came home in a good mood and he didn’t want to spoil it. They sat on the front porch after gorging themselves on sub sandwiches Scully had picked up on her way home from the hospital. Mulder still tasted the onion. He popped a sunflower seed in his mouth and listened to the crackle between his teeth.

Scully, sitting next to Mulder on the porch swing, had her feet folded underneath her, a blanket from the couch covering her lap. The porch swing swayed slightly as Mulder periodically pushed against the floor with his foot. Mulder watched her hair move slightly on her face; it drove him crazy- he always wanted to push it away from her eyes. Instead, he kept his hands in his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

Scully sighed and looked at him. Her lips parted as if she was going to speak, but instead she stayed silent. They both knew what each wanted to say – the elephant in the room, so to speak. Scully had received a clean bill of health, but something still stalked each of their thoughts – what had happened that cold, snowy morning? Neither of them wanted to broach the subject, however. Scully saw it as a mud puddle they were both dancing around, avoiding the wet sludge. The truth was murky and unknowable for the time being, and they’d both always been more comfortable in silence, ignoring what was right in front of them.

Mulder’s foot began tapping out a rhythm, keeping time with the tree frogs that belted their rough croaks. Scully had begun plaiting a bit of her hair, her fingers moving quickly through the strands as her eyes stared ahead, unmoving.

“Hey Mulder?” Scully’s voice startled him, and the swing jerked a bit as Mulder put his foot flat on the ground to stop the movement.

“Yeah?” He looked and saw one corner of her mouth was up – she was trying not to smile – he knew the look well.

“Do you have…fans?” She knit her eyebrows and chuckled at her own question. “I mean, I know you’ve written some articles for a few magazines in the past – but you did those under pseudonyms, right?”

Mulder hadn’t been expecting this question at all. His mouth hung open in surprise for a few seconds until he was able to formulate a response.

“I…have no idea. The magazines never forwarded me any mail or anything. And, yes, I used a fake name. You know that – I wrote them all while we were hiding from our dear friends in Washington. Why do you ask?” His left hand was on his face now, scratching a nonexistent itch. He waited for a response, and was sure almost immediately that Scully was hesitant to say more. He nudged her knee with his own to prod her on.

“Nothing…” she started, licking her lips. “There was this guy today…in the parking garage at the hospital. He scared me at first, but I think he was harmless…” She trailed off, waiting for Mulder to explode in a heap of panic. She was relieved when he stayed calm.

“Did he say anything to you? Try to hurt you?” Mulder’s eyes were wide and Scully bowed her head slightly and looked at him through her eyelashes. I’m not stupid, she wanted to say.

“No, Mulder. Like I said: I’m pretty sure he was harmless. That’s why I asked if you had any fans or followers.”

“Oh…but he obviously knew who you were?” Mulder asked, confused now.

“He certainly wanted to say something to me – I do think he was seeking me out. He didn’t get whatever it was out, though. Another person came along and interrupted him. He seemed scared, honestly. My main issue is this: I can’t really figure out how anyone would suss out who you are, let alone me, just from your magazine articles. Who would be seeking me out anyway, and for what? My patients at the hospital don’t have any reason to try to corner me in a parking lot.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, again ignoring the ideas that had occurred to both of them. Mulder finally broke –

“Something doesn’t smell right, Scully.” He paused to figure out how to word the next bit of his thoughts as they jumbled in his mind like colorful balls in a ball pit, but was surprised to hear Scully’s voice.

“If I’m not sick, it’s my chip.”

Mulder froze at her words, his throat drying up, and his stomach traveling to his toes. He knew it was a possibility – all this time – if they couldn’t get to him, they’d certainly use Scully.

They.

But They were all gone now, he thought to himself.

“But, why? Why would anyone be after us now? We’re both in the clear. We’ve got the damn paperwork to prove it.”

Scully knew he didn’t expect her to answer his questions. She sat, running her fingers through the fringe of the blanket, thinking.

“Maybe I should hope to see that guy again. Maybe he knows something.” She figured it was a long shot – he probably was a UFO nut looking to meet the other UFO nut who had written the articles he’d eaten up like candy in his mother’s basement.

Mulder sat up, looking determined.

“I’m calling Skinner – maybe he can help.”

“What? Why? Surely if he knew anything, he would have said something by now. Mulder, listen. I’m fine. We’re fine – let’s not go alarming Skinner – who knows…there’s no way to know if – if our suspicions have any merit!” Scully spoke in earnest and she watched as Mulder sat back against the porch swing, relaxing a bit.

“All right – if you see this person again, talk to him. See what he wants, but don’t get too close,” Mulder pleaded. “We don’t know who he is - it could be dangerous.”

Mulder rose from his seat, Scully eyeing the empty space like it was a dark cave ready to swallow her up. She almost bent and laid her head there, but refrained. She shivered and brought the blanket to her shoulders. Mulder walked around the front yard. Scully knew he was looking for more footprints, but knew he would find none – not in all the snow they’d had recently. The one they found was by pure luck. She watched as he fiddled with a sunflower seed before popping it in his mouth.

“Let’s go in. I’m cold.” Scully stood up, gathering the blanket in her arms. She didn’t look to see if Mulder was following her to the door. She knew he would. The warm house was welcoming, and Scully felt herself relax as she let the house envelope her in its familiarity. This place really had come to feel more like home as the years went on.

As they walked up the stairs to the bedroom, Scully absently placed her hand at the base of her neck. Mulder placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“You’re okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, Mulder. I didn’t even realize.” She trailed off and started up the stairs again, eager to get to sleep. She was exhausted, and her nerves were wound tightly. She could only hope she was right – that they were both fine.

——

Ethan had been thoughtful enough to keep in his memory the car Scully drove away in. A white Chevrolet, he knew. It would be easy to slip her a note and all he’d have to do is hope she’d show up. If she didn’t meet him at the time and place he’d put in the note that would be it. He would leave it alone, he decided. His conscience would be cleared, and he could go on with his life. Pretend like none of this had ever happened.

He paced his small apartment for the umpteenth time, positive the downstairs neighbors were sick of his footsteps. The note was clutched in his left hand as he twirled a pen in his right, almost dropping it. He read the note over, trying to think of anything else to add.

Ethan hummed, sitting down on his couch. He’d asked to see her on Wednesday – it was Sunday evening now. He assumed she would read the note on Monday and that would give him time to calm his nerves before seeing her. He realized he really had nothing to be afraid of, yet he found he was terrified. What if he said something wrong? What if he scared the poor woman to death – all for nothing? What if they were actually dangerous people and she tried to hurt him? He knew this last scenario wasn’t likely. She was a doctor, after all. She had seemed just as unsure of him as he was of her when they met for the brief minutes at the hospital.

He folded the letter before he could talk himself out of it and put it in his wallet. He decided to put the letter under her windshield wipers tomorrow morning.

———

After an uneventful Monday, Scully made her way to her car that evening. She realized she was almost excited about getting to the parking garage – would the mystery guy be there again? She and Mulder hadn’t slept well since their realizations a few nights previous. She was dying for answers – and if they came in the form of the Parking Garage Guy, then so be it.

She walked swiftly, but kept her eye out for him. She was disappointed when she reached her car and saw no one. She opened the car door, but before getting in, a note tucked under her wipers caught her eye.

She stopped breathing for a minute, and looked around. No one was around. He hadn’t lingered after leaving the note. He could’ve done this any time today, she reasoned. She reached for the note and got in the car, ducking down slightly to avoid prying eyes. Her fingers shook slightly as she unfolded the note. She almost reached into her bag for some gloves – it almost felt to her like a piece of evidence. Mulder would probably treat it that way.

Her eyes hurried over the note before reading, the blue ink of the pen hard to see in the shady garage. She reached up and turned on the overhead light and read.

Dr. Scully, (So he knows my name, she thought.)

You don’t know me, but I know of you. I don’t want to frighten you, but I really need to speak with you about an urgent matter. Please meet me at the Oakwood Mall at 6p.m. on Wednesday.

-Ethan

Scully read the letter a couple more times before folding it again and tucking it into the glove compartment. She rubbed her hands together and gripped the wheel, ready to drive home. She knew immediately that she would be there. She was excited now, not nervous. She almost didn’t want to tell Mulder – he would probably want to tag along, but she knew it would be best if she went alone. Ethan had addressed only her.

When she got home, Mulder was in his usual spot in his office – on the green leather sofa looking out the window at the forest beyond the house. She swatted him in the head with the letter when she came in.

“Look what I got today.” She handed him the note, and he grabbed it swiftly out of her hand to read. His eyes swam over the page and it took him no time at all to devour it. He looked up at her expectantly.

“I should go with you.”

“What? No, Mulder. He didn’t ask to see you. He asked to see me. What if you being there throws a wrench into this whole thing and he clams up? He clearly wants to talk to me about something. So let’s get him to talk – I don’t want to scare him away by bringing someone he doesn’t know along.” She sighed as she watched him formulate a protest in his mind. His mouth opened slightly and he put his hand out.

“Look, you can come, okay? But stay away. You can…look for some new running shoes while we talk. You need some.”

“I like my running shoes, Scully.” Mulder stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He buried his head in the fridge and kept talking while Scully sat at the table.

“Fine. I’ll stay away, but keep your cell phone on in case anything goes wrong.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Mulder.” She put her chin in her hands and looked at him as he gulped orange juice from the carton.

—————-

Wednesday came, and Ethan’s fingers were sore after he bit them all morning. He sat in front of an Eddie Bauer store at 5:30pm. He knew he was incredibly early, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He also realized he hadn’t specified a place at the mall to meet. He’d just have to find her, he supposed. It wasn’t terribly crowded, only some older people and a handful of parents with their small children wandering around the small shopping center. The bench he sat on was uncomfortable, and as six o’clock came closer, he decided to get up and wander around. He walked from one end of the mall to the other, and finally he figured he should start looking out for Dr. Scully – if she were coming, that is.

The crowd was thicker as people got out of work for the day. A small café was set up in the middle of the mall, and Ethan decided to sit and wait. He was only making himself more nervous by walking around. He couldn’t help but feel someone was looking over his shoulder. He’d decided on Monday, when he wrote the note, not to mention anything other than what he’d found on the computer. The wires installed in their house he knew even less about. He figured it would be best to play dumb about that fact – at least for the time being.

He was relieved to see, only a few minutes after he’d sat down, that Dr. Scully was coming directly towards him. She walked quickly, and looked straight ahead. He could tell she’d come straight from the hospital – the white doctors’ jacket stuck out of her bag slightly, and she looked tired.

He began to feel afraid again, but he hesitantly raised his arm to get her attention. It worked, and her eyes landed on him. Weaving through the tables and chairs of the café, she made her way to his table and sat down.

“So, did you find anything?”

Ethan was dumfounded. What was she talking about?

“At the store. Did you find what you were looking for? I’m ready to leave.”

“What?” Ethan stared at her, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

“We’ll have dinner when we get home. I don’t want to eat here. Let’s go.”

Dr. Scully stood up and motioned for him to follow her. He did so, and fell in line with her.

She leaned in slightly closer and whispered, “We may as well act like we already know one another. Better to be safe than sorry. You’re Ethan?”

Ethan realized she knew what she was doing. She’d done this kind of thing before, for certain. He thought back to the photos of her in the FBI jacket. His pulse quickened, and he almost bolted, afraid he was being led to his death by a trained killer.

“Y…Yes. I’m Ethan. Thanks for meeting me.” He was relieved when he heard words escape his mouth. “You’re probably wondering who I am. What I want with you.”

“Exactly.” Scully spoke directly, staring straight ahead, giving nothing away.

“I..I wanted to tell you…no, I wanted to ask you…do you have a family?” Ethan kicked himself. He knew he wasn’t making much sense. He’d rehearsed all of this at home, but it wasn’t going anything like it had in his head.

“A family?” Scully almost stopped walking, but kept going by sheer luck. “Why?”

“I…I was hired to do a job. For some people. I don’t know who they are or their names or even how to reach them…” he broke off again and changed subjects. “Do you know Mr. Mulder?”

“Why did you ask me if I have a family?” Scully didn’t want to let that question go just yet. It wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

“I….the job I did for those people. I saw some photos – of you and who I assume to be Mr. Mulder. And there was one of a baby. I figured…I figured he was yours or Mr. Mulder’s maybe.” Ethan’s head was about to explode. A headache pulsed through his body, suddenly making him feel completely exhausted. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed to speak more clearly.

“What kind of job did you do?” Scully looked at Ethan, who was sweating and darting his eyes around nervously.

“It was a hacking job. I had to go and get files from Mr. Mulder’s computer. I found nothing, really. Only the photos I mentioned.” He decided against talking about the pornography.

“I see. And you say you don’t know who the people who hired you are?”

“No, I don’t. I just. I saw the photo of the baby and was afraid that I’d been messing around with a family - an innocent family. I couldn’t live with myself. I had to talk to you. Is the baby…is he yours?”

Scully licked her lips and looked around for a brief moment. She saw Mulder walking a fair way ahead of them, hands in his pockets. It calmed her, and she spoke again after clearing her throat.

“The baby was mine, yes. I gave him up for adoption,” she said quietly, turning her eyes to the floor. “If you’re worried about hurting a family, it’s only me and Mulder. We’re fine. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Oh. I’m…I’m sorry.” Ethan didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been expecting the response he got. He ran his hands over his face roughly, frustrated that it seemed that this meeting wasn’t exactly productive. At least, he thought, kids weren’t involved in…whatever it was.

“Why are people asking me to hack into your computer?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. He had to know.

“I don’t know, Ethan. But thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” He said it earnestly; he felt he owed her something, and the apology was all he had to give.

Before he knew it, she was gone, blending into the crowd of shoppers.


	6. Chapter 6

Ethan swallowed another bite of the chicken casserole his mother had made. It was piping hot, the creamy sauce burning his mouth. His mother was happy to have him over for dinner – she knew he wasn’t eating well enough by himself. She’d seen his apartment – bare except for a futon, a desk, and a small television. The inside of his refrigerator hadn’t yielded much else except a loaf of bread and some strawberry jam.

“Don’t eat too fast, Ethan. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m fine. Can I have another spoonful? It’s really good.”

Ethan’s mother Penny scooped some more casserole onto his plate and replaced the cover on the dish.

“I may have a job lined up, Mom,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth. This wasn’t entirely true, but he figured his mother would be happy to hear it anyway. He hadn’t had a job since his weird foray into a government-run spy operation – well, it was what he was calling it.

“Oh, Ethan, that’s great news! Would you like a glass of wine to celebrate?” Penny got up to fetch a bottle while Ethan continued eating.

After meeting Dr. Scully at the shopping mall, he was more bothered than ever by what he’d done. She was harmless, he’d thought. He had done a little more searching online about her this afternoon before heading to his mom’s place.

There was nothing suspicious regarding her career as a doctor, as far as he could tell. She was a pediatric specialist, working at the Catholic hospital in town. He wished he’d had more information on Mr. Mulder. Maybe he was the reason they were being watched. He suddenly wished there had been more on the man’s hard drive – it would give him something to look into. A few photos of a couple FBI agents and some pornography weren’t exactly revealing. Ethan knew it would be next to impossible to get information on former agents, anyway, at least from where he was sitting. He decided to give Sam another call, really grill him to get any information he could about the men they had met about the job. Sam had to know something he wasn’t telling him, Ethan assumed; all the pushing away and shoving of Ethan’s worries to the side spoke volumes. He had to find out.

Ethan stood up as his mom was returning with the bottle of wine and two glasses. Her face fell as she saw him rise.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I gotta go. I’ve got some…work to do with a buddy of mine. He needs some help…moving.” Ethan was sorry to lie, but he had no choice. He wiped his face once more with his napkin and hugged his mother goodbye.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise,” he said as he walked out the door to his beat up Ford Focus. His mother waved and shut the door as he drove away.

As soon as he was far enough away from his mother’s house to be sure she wasn’t looking out the window, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Sam’s number. It rang several times, and soon Sam’s voicemail picked up.

“It’s Sam. Leave a message.” Ethan sighed and waited for the beep.

“Sam, it’s Ethan. Um…give me a call man, okay?” He left it short and sweet – better not to say too much. Sam would be more likely to call him back if he kept it simple.

He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel tighter. He decided to head home, do some more online research. There had to be something that would tell him something.

He’d been so relieved to hear that the baby in the photo wasn’t in harm’s way; he almost decided to leave it all alone and pretend the job never happened. But curiosity got the better of him, as it usually did. When he told Dr. Scully what he’d been hired to do, her face was blank, like she somehow expected it. But he knew that couldn’t be right. Who would expect to be spied on? Her demeanor had been cool; she had been seemingly unbothered by their meeting or the reason for it. There had to be something to those FBI photos Ethan was missing. He decided to look at them more closely while he waited for Sam’s call.

——————————-

Ethan reached the front door of his apartment and paused. The door was open. It wasn’t standing wide open, but the latch wasn’t closed properly, he could tell.

He scanned the hallway, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Rows of doors lined the hall in either direction, some with door mats resting on the floor, welcoming visitors. No one was around; everything was incredibly still. His muscles were tightened, adrenaline pulsing through him. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t know whether to run or to enter the apartment.

Relief flooded him when he saw Sam standing in his living room. He was red-faced and appeared nervous – no, angry. He stared at Ethan with contempt, his top lip curling in a slightly cartoonish manner.

“What are you doing?” Sam’s voice was low and threatening. His eyes narrowed and Ethan would’ve sworn he felt pain when Sam took a small step toward him.

“Sam? I didn’t know you had a key…or…where I lived, for that matter…” Ethan was puzzled. He was confused as to why Sam had appeared at his apartment unannounced, when he’d just tried to call him fifteen minutes ago. And…he was angry. Ethan tried to remember something he’d done to make Sam unhappy with him recently – but came up with nothing.

“You fucked up.”

Ethan didn’t have time to register that Sam had moved across the room. Sam’s fist landed on his cheek, the pain spreading through his head like a thousand needle pricks. Ethan felt the thunk as he landed on his back; the linoleum tiles by the front door didn’t provide any cushioning. Ethan raised his hands defensively, ready for another blow. Instead, he stared as Sam, panting heavily, bent down so Ethan could feel the heat radiating off Sam’s body.

“Leave them alone. Your job is fucking done and has been for a while. You are not to contact them anymore. That note … that fucking note—“

Sam broke off, saliva shooting out, landing on Ethan’s forehead. Ethan’s face scrunched in a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“How did you….”

“Doesn’t matter. Leave it all alone. Believe me, I will know if you don’t, and I’ll be back to end your sorry excuse for a life.”

Sam paused, looking around the apartment one last time.

“What a fucking pigsty.”

With that, he rose up, stepped over Ethan still sprawled on the floor, and exited through the front door. Ethan jerked in surprise as the door slammed, his hair moving in the breeze it created.

——————————-

“You going to be down here for a while?” Scully was exhausted, ready for bed. Mulder had other plans, however.

“Probably,” Mulder absent-mindedly replied, keeping his head in his hands as he stared at the top of the kitchen table. He heard Scully head upstairs, but didn’t move to follow her.

He was thinking, connecting the dots. Mulder rapped his knuckles lightly on the table before he got up and started pacing.

‘One,’ he thought. ‘I find Scully alone in the woods, disoriented and bleeding.’

He made two laps from the table to the sofa, while tossing the thought around in his head.

‘Two, Scully appears healthy. That’s good – at least on the surface.’ He shook his head in disgust – he didn’t want to think about her abduction, her cancer, her near death – and what the episode in the forest was trying to get him to realize. He kept pacing.

‘Three – Scully gets a note from a stranger, is told he was hired to hack my computer.’

Mulder stopped, half way through another lap. He wanted to ignore the implications swimming through his mind, growing like weeds, ready to swallow him and Scully whole. Again.

He walked to his office and eyed it carefully. The wall above his leather couch was covered in articles and newspaper clippings as always. Some he didn’t even remember hanging. The faces in photographs stared back at him, unmoving, giving away nothing. The corners of some articles curled with age. Nothing was missing, he knew. Nothing had been moved.

He turned to his desk – the wall behind it wallpapered in the same fashion as the others. Nothing gone there, and everything on his desk was as it should be. He sat heavily in his desk chair and bent to open all the drawers – two on either side of him. All were filled with manila folders, some marked in red ink, bearing a large ‘X’. Nothing seemed abnormal – there was even dust covering the folders in one drawer that never closed properly.

“If someone was interested in my computer, why the hell hadn’t they gone through my files?” Mulder’s voice filled the dark room, echoing in his ears. The answer filled his mouth, tasting like bile.

“Because they aren’t after my past - they’re after my present, my future.”

He quickly stood up and went back to the kitchen, examining it in the same way. The room suddenly felt uncomfortable – he knew instinctively that someone, a stranger, had been here. ‘Doing what?’ he asked himself. He had a theory, though.

Running upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, Mulder shook Scully out of a half sleep, and she eyed him warily.

“What in the world?” She sat up, but not quickly enough for Mulder. He pulled her arm and dragged her to the door.

“Come on, Scully. We’ve got a kitchen to examine with a fine-tooth comb.”

“What? Mulder, it’s 1:30 A.M. I have work tomorrow.”

“Something’s planted in the kitchen, I’m sure of it. Mikes, cameras, I don’t know.”

This got Scully’s attention.

“We’re being spied on? By whom?”

“Probably someone your friend Ethan knows – that would be my guess.”

Mulder didn’t hesitate in running his hands along the baseboards, looking for cracks or small holes; he found nothing there. Scully stood, puzzled, unsure of where to start. She watched as Mulder dove into the junk drawer, where they kept the lone screwdriver they owned.

Grabbing a chair, Scully moved it beneath the ceiling light, and looked expectantly at Mulder as she put her feet in the seat of the chair.

“Hand me the screw driver, Mulder.”

She took it and unscrewed the light cover, carefully handing it to Mulder’s waiting hands. Examining the light bulb and the wiring that she could see, nothing appeared questionable. She unscrewed the fixture, pulling it away from the ceiling and peered beneath it. 

“The light’s fine. There’s nothing here.”

Re-attaching the light fixture and the glass cover, she climbed down and put her feet on the floor again.

“Outlets,” Mulder stated, grabbing the screwdriver and beginning to work.

The outlet covers fell to the counter top as Mulder unscrewed them. Scully followed behind, checking for evidence of a foreign object inserted into the cavities. Over the sink, the outlet was as it should be. She moved along the wall, looking under the garbage disposal switch.

She finally eyed something – a fleck of light – something reflecting off the light coming from the living room, a lamp Mulder had left on earlier.

“Mulder, get a flashlight – there’s something in here. At least, I think there is.”

Finding a small Maglite in the junk drawer, Mulder pointed the beam of light into the hole in the tile, and saw it.

A small microphone was tucked away, no bigger than a pencil eraser. Mulder grabbed a sandwich bag from the cabinet and pulled the tiny gadget out, placing it gently into the bag.

Scully stood back and eyed it, then began looking in the rest of the outlets. In all, they found three mikes in the kitchen, and soon moved on to the living area where they found three more, and Mulder’s office – none there. They didn’t stop until the sun came up – Scully would have to face today without sleep, but she didn’t care. They were both on edge, afraid to say anything.

Sitting in her car with Mulder in the passenger seat, Scully’s eyes felt heavy and she was sure there were dark circles beneath them that no make-up could hide. It had been a stressful night.

Mulder spoke first, unable to bottle up his questions any longer.

“Why didn’t this Ethan guy tell you about the mikes? Who knows what else he hid from you.”

“I don’t know, Mulder. Look, I have to get into work.”

“I know. I’ll…I’ll see what I can find out about the mikes we found. Where they came from.” He bit his lip, holding the next words in, and then decided it was better to let it out.

“Think we should call Skinner?”

“And tell him what, Mulder? I’m not sure what he can do.”

“Well. I need to call him about the mikes, to begin with.”

“Oh. Yeah, you do. Be careful what you say, Mulder. We don’t know who is listening anymore.” 

Scully suddenly wanted to spring from the car and run – what if they’d bugged the car, too, while she was at work? What if Ethan had done it? It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

“I’ll see you when you get home. Hopefully I’ll have gotten some useful information by then.” Mulder nodded at her and got out of the car, waving as she drove to the street.

—————-

The small pile of microphones sat by Mulder’s left hand, resting on the desk as the computer hummed to life.

Mulder wasn’t stupid – he knew whoever planted those things in his walls knew they’d been removed. He was sure he and Scully were being surveilled in other ways, anyway. The mikes were just one piece of the puzzle. Mulder’s knee bounced, the nervous energy building up inside him was making him sweat.

He opened his e-mail, trying to decide if sending a message to Skinner was the best idea. Chances were, whoever had planted those mikes had also been reading his e-mails. He skimmed through his inbox – there was nothing of interest: a few pieces of junk mail, an e-mail from a magazine editor who had been eager to read the manuscript Mulder was working on, and one from Skinner, at least a year old – asking if they were doing all right. He didn’t get much e-mail.

Running his hands over his face, the rough stubble on his chin scratching his hands, he stood up, deciding not to take the e-mail approach. It was too risky. He knew he couldn’t use the house phone, either – it was tapped, surely. He had a cell phone, but that was traceable.

He’d have to find a functioning pay phone – but they were in short supply these days. Putting on his running shoes, Mulder was out the door quickly. He made sure to lock the front door, though he wasn’t entirely confident of its ability to keep out unwanted guests. He scanned the area, keeping an eye out for people nearby. There appeared to be no one, and he walked to the street.

They really did need to get a second car, he thought.

Walking the two miles to the nearest convenience store wasn’t terrible, but he was glad when he arrived. He scanned the front of the building for a pay phone, and was relieved when he spotted one to the left side, next to the ice box with the big red letters - I C E, it spelled out, covered with what was supposed to be snow.

Mulder grabbed the grimy receiver and put it to his ear. He could hardly believe it when he heard a dial tone. This place was so far out of the way, he supposed the pay phone may be used quite a bit.

He decided on the walk to call Skinner’s home number and leave him a short, casual message. Mulder searched on the phone for the number to give Skinner so he could call back. Finding the string of seven numbers, he dialed Skinner’s number, waiting for the beep. He realized he hadn’t planned on what to say, but the beep came and he scrambled for the right words.

“Skinner – it’s an old friend. Uh, just wanted to check in, see how things are at the Hoover building these days. Give me a call, will you?” Mulder repeated the phone number for the pay phone, asking Skinner to call him between 7 and 9 tonight, if possible.

He hung up the receiver and stood there for a minute, wondering if what he’d just done was a huge mistake. It may well be, he thought ruefully. But it was done. That was that. He wondered briefly if Scully would be angry for taking this step without telling her, but he decided it didn’t matter – Mulder was doing what he thought was best, she’d have to agree.

——

Scully’s office was quiet – she’d just gotten out of a long, boring meeting with the hospital’s board of directors. A perfunctory meeting every month, and she dreaded them. Sitting in the uncomfortable seat, listening to a few old men drone on about policy and cost and ….

This time she’d let her mind wander, to the night before. She couldn’t concentrate on work now – her house was bugged, for some unknown reason. She felt impulsive, ready to drop everything at the hospital and drive home. She wondered what Mulder was doing – she was sure he was tearing through the house for more mysteriously placed objects designed to monitor their daily lives.

It was so creepy, being watched or listened to. Scully had run through every possibility, but she still didn’t have an answer as to why those mikes had been placed. Had Mulder? She knew he probably had a few theories.

In the meeting, she’d sighed rather loudly while thinking about it all. The room had gone silent and one of the gray men at the head of the table had stared at her with an indignant look on his face. Scully smiled sheepishly and looked down at her papers. She chose to remain silent the rest of the meeting.

When it finally ended, she was stopped by Dr. Nair on her way out the door.

“Are you okay, Dana? You’re not sick, are you?” Laura put a hand on Scully’s shoulder as a sign of friendship. Scully wasn’t sure how to respond. No, she wasn’t sick; she just hadn’t slept all night because her house wasn’t her own anymore. Was her life, she wondered?

“I’m fine, Laura. Thanks. I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”

She ducked by Dr. Nair and made a beeline for her office, dying to sink into her desk chair and close her eyes, just for a minute.

That minute didn’t last long.

The phone on her desk rang shrilly, jerking Scully out of a cat nap. It was a colleague, requesting that Scully examine a patient who had been suffering from odd migraines, sleep-walking, and unexplained disorientation.

Dr. Ian Jackson ran his own Psychiatry practice near the hospital – Scully was often getting requests from him to see patients who may benefit from a medical doctor’s point of view.

“Dana, I’m not sure what to attribute the symptoms to. I could really use your expertise, here. The patient’s name is Kayla Moore – she’s thirteen years old. Would you mind if I set up an appointment for her to see you?”

“Yes, that’s fine. I have some free time, actually, if she’s available - this afternoon around four?” 

“Wonderful, thanks so much,” Dr. Jackson replied with a relieved sigh. Clearly Kayla had been weighing heavily on his mind.

Scully had emptied that block of time for the silly meeting, but it had been pushed forward for some unknown reason. Now she was behind on her rounds, so she made the final arrangements with Dr. Jackson and hung up quickly, ready to get on with her day.

Her rounds went smoothly, and she was looking forward to meeting Kayla. She enjoyed challenges, though she was already making guesses that this girl may be suffering from a simple chemical imbalance some medication would take care of. It wasn’t unheard of – common, actually. Sometimes it took a medical doctor to pinpoint the exact problem, and Scully hoped she’d be able to answer the worrying looks on Kayla’s parents’ faces when she stepped into the examination room at four o’clock.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Moore? I’m Dr. Dana Scully.” She stuck her hand out, and both parents shook it briefly before sitting back down, eyeing their obviously ill daughter lying on the table a few feet from them. She looked pale, and was staring at the ceiling, eyes unmoving.

Scully could see she was trembling slightly. She moved near the girl and placed a warm hand on her arm to reassure her.

“Hi, Kayla. I’m Dr. Scully. I hear you’re not feeling well right now. I’m here to help. Can you explain in your own words what’s been happening?”

Kayla looked at Scully, moving nothing but her eyes. Her lips twitched – Scully was certain the girl was confused and didn’t quite know where to begin. After a few minutes of silence, Scully decided to help her. She started out with something simple enough, she thought:

“Dr. Jackson tells me you’ve been sleep-walking?”

Kayla nodded her head, and her mother spoke up, wanting to elaborate.

“She has never done this before. A few weeks ago we found her outside, wandering around our pool-“

Kayla’s dad interjected. The fear was apparent in his voice as it quavered.

“She was mumbling something about getting out of our gate, needing to get somewhere. ‘the top’, she said.”

Scully nodded but turned back to Kayla, hoping to get her to speak.

“Kayla, do you recall any of this?”

The girl shook her head, and Scully wasn’t surprised. Most people didn’t recall anything they did while sleep-walking. She started with another symptom described by Dr. Jackson on the phone earlier.

“You’ve been having some bad headaches – migraines – recently, is that correct?”

Kayla’s mouth went wide, like she was in pain. Her hand went to her forehead and rubbed.

“Is it hurting now?” Scully was prepared to grab a nurse – to administer a dose of morphine.

Kayla nodded, still rubbing her forehead.

“Is it constant, or does it come and go?”

Kayla’s mother again spoke up: “It wasn’t constant until about two days ago. She would take some ibuprofen but nothing would relieve it. She couldn’t sleep, and she began having nose bleeds.”

Scully nodded again. She decided to order an MRI and performed a brief neurological exam on Kayla, asking her to lift her arms, squeeze Scully’s hands, to stand on one foot. It was clear that Kayla’s brain appeared to be functioning correctly. She had no problem with Scully’s requests, though she was sluggish – the migraine was wearing her down. 

“Do you mind if I examine your body? Only briefly – make sure you have no visible injuries?” If it weren’t for the very alive girl lying on the table near her, Scully would’ve believed she was back in the autopsy bay, looking for a cause of death. She swallowed the thought down, and eyed the parents.

“Would you like to stay while I look her over? It’s your choice.” Both parents stayed put. She knew this girl probably had nothing wrong with her, externally. The migraines and sleep-walking didn’t point to abuse, really. But she wanted to be thorough.

She picked up Kayla’s right arm, turning it slightly. She repeated her actions with the left. No marks, not even a small scar was to be found. Scully helped Kayla sit up, but made quick work of examining the girl’s back – Kayla was woozy. Scully saw nothing on her back.

She lifted the girl’s dark brown hair that hung messily at the girl’s shoulders. Gathering the hair in her hand, Scully peered at her neck, reluctantly searching for a small scar that matched her own.

She’d had suspicions ever since she heard Dr. Jackson explain Kayla’s symptoms over the phone. She wanted to disregard it all. She tried to convince her shelf she was being overly paranoid, that jumping to the conclusion that the girl was an abductee was something Mulder would do. Besides, she figured, the ‘Project’ or whatever it’s called was done…right?

As she eyed the tiny scar on the girl’s neck, bright and red, she wondered about her own strange episode not so long ago. She shook her head, bringing her focus back to Kayla, who was slouching heavily. Scully patted her softly on the back and motioned for her to lie back down. The girl eased down and closed her eyes, covering them with one hand while Scully took one of Kayla’s feet in her hands, looking for any sign of injury.

The right foot was fine, but Scully was able to see a small spot on her left heel, where it appeared as though a needle had been stuck. It was tiny, but it was bright red like the girl’s scar on her neck.

What the hell was it? Scully was stumped, but made a mental note of it. She eased the girl’s foot back to the table and straightened up, looking at Kayla’s parents.

“I’ve ordered some routine tests – blood, urine, and an MRI – hopefully we’ll not have to do anything more invasive. We should have answers for you soon. I know you’re worried, but she doesn’t appear to be in any immediate danger. I will prescribe some pain killers for her migraines. Thanks so much for bringing her in – we’ll get to the bottom of this. Try not to worry.” Scully knew this request was easier said than done, and she wondered if the parents had any inkling about what her daughter may actually have gone through. 

“Kayla, do you mind staying here while I speak to your parents alone?” Scully waited for the girl to respond, and led the two adults out of the examination room silently when the girl nodded her head.

Scully lead them to her office, down the hall, and welcomed them to sit in the chairs facing her desk. She didn’t often have people in here. It felt crowded with one extra person, now with two she noticed how small the room really was.

“Mr. and Mrs. Moore – I’d really be interested to know more about Kayla’s symptoms. Can you tell me anything beyond the episode by the pool?” She spoke calmly and with determination, snapping on her investigator mask without realizing it.

Mrs. Moore spoke first, taking a deep breath before words formed.

“Kayla is usually bright and active. Lately, she’s been…well, listless, really. She doesn’t want to go outside anymore. She stays in her room mostly. She’s been complaining of horrible migraines for a few months now. We took her to our family doctor, but nothing ever came of it, and the medication that was prescribed didn’t seem to help – they’re getting more frequent, as you heard. The sleep-walking…well, what would you say, Frank?”

Mrs. Moore looked to her husband for help. He rubbed his hands together in his lap nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“I…Um…the sleep-walking was odd. She hadn’t done it when she was younger, she’d always slept soundly. Then one night we found her miles away, at the high school baseball field. She was on her knees, staring at the sky.”

He trailed off; seemingly reliving the moment they found their daughter. It must have been terrifying. Mr. Moore’s eyes moved around Scully’s office, and he didn’t continue.

“Did she remember this?” Scully asked the question, though she already knew the answer. Kayla would have no recollection, and certainly no idea about what she may have been doing in the baseball field that night.

“No, she didn’t. We took her back home and put her in bed; called the doctor the next morning.” Scully could see Kayla’s mother was ashamed – she probably thought they, as parents, had missed something; had failed to do something to prevent all this in the first place.

Scully didn’t dare speak the word ‘abductee’ out loud, and she fought the urge to call Mulder – she could really have used his help in this. He knew how to better talk to these people. Scully wasn’t even sure what she believed, much less how to explain it all to someone else.

Again, Frank Moore spoke up, so suddenly that his wife jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Dr. Scully, we took her to this damned psychiatrist’s office, thinking it was…I don’t know, teenage moodiness? I really wanted it to be that – I wanted it to be something as simple as getting snubbed by a…a friend at a party…something a lot of teenage girls deal with. Do…do you think it could be…could be hormonal?”

“Has Kayla started her period?”

Mrs. Moore looked at the floor, sadness in her eyes.

The office was darker now, the sun lowering in the sky. The winter months always made Scully hate her office – it was dark at 5 o’clock, the big overhead light was too harsh, but she had no choice. Her desk lamp wasn’t bright enough to light the whole room.

Scully stood up, not waiting for an answer, and flipped the wall switch. Light flooded the room. Scully brought her chair around to the front of the desk to better engage with Kayla’s parents. She’d learned from all those years with Mulder that sometimes it helps to be in close contact with the people you’re trying to get answers from. It helped form a small bond, an affinity that was sometimes necessary. Scully wanted these people to trust her. And if it came to light that Kayla was suffering from something that Scully knew all too well, she thought it might help the parents to know that she was there for them.

Scully reached out and touched Mrs. Moore’s shoulder. Scully’s hand shook with the woman’s sobs. Mr. Moore looked on, unsure of what to do.

“We adopted Kayla, you know. We were so happy when she came to us.” Mrs. Moore mumbled the words through her tears. Scully patted her shoulder once more before removing it.

“You adopted her? As an infant, I assume?”

“Yes. She was only a few days old when she came to our home,” Mr. Moore answered.

“No, she’s not started her period. We’re hoping she’s just a late bloomer,” Mrs. Moore stated, steering the conversation elsewhere. Scully wanted to remain on the topic of Kayla’s adoption, however.

“Where did she come from? I mean, did you meet her birth mother?”

“No, it was a closed adoption – we wanted it that way. Maybe that’s selfish of us, but…you know…” Mr. Moore trailed off again, looking at the dark window of the office.

“The adoption agency we were working with found her – I don’t know how. But she was ours from the beginning. We love her so.” Mrs. Moore again collapsed into sobs, and Mr. Moore pulled her close in an attempt to comfort his wife.

Scully stood up and opened the blinds on the window, feeling slightly enclosed in the small room. She felt hot, and ready to escape the situation for now.

“Well, why don’t we head back to Kayla. I’m sure she’s eager to get home. I’ll certainly be in touch. We’ll call when the test results are all in, okay?” Scully shook their hands again as they stood up, and guided them back to their daughter. She said goodbye to Kayla, who gave a small wave.

——-

As she drove home from the hospital, she realized she’d forgotten all about the mikes in the walls. She sighed, leaning her head against the steering wheel at a red light. A sudden honk from another driver brought her head up, and she gunned it when she realized she was holding up traffic.

“Sorry, sorry…” Scully mumbled to an empty car.

She was relieved to be home when she pulled into the driveway. She was confused only briefly when Mulder didn’t greet her as he usually did, sitting on the porch. She walked in the house and found it empty. A note sat on the kitchen table.

Scully – gone to the store down the road, I’ll be back after nine tonight.

-Mulder

“Now what the hell is he up to?” The room didn’t answer, and she thought about getting in the car and finding him.

But not before she sat on the couch and pulled off her shoes and socks.

There, on her left heel, was a small prick, identical to Kayla’s.


	7. Chapter 7

Lip still swollen, head pounding, Ethan walked through the shopping mall. His apartment was starting to feel like a prison; he hadn’t left it since Sam had attacked him. Trying to make sense of everything wasn’t easy when all he could focus on was the television, droning on in the background, sounding fuzzy as his mind was far away. Now, surrounded by shoppers, Ethan felt his thoughts clearing. He’d gotten in his car, unsure of where to go, and was surprised to find himself sitting in front of the shopping center - the same one where he’d met Dr. Scully.

Had he subconsciously hoped to run into her again? He wasn’t sure, but the sight of the coffee shop where they’d sat was alluring. He took a seat at one of the metal tables after ordering a drink and a pastry he was confident wouldn’t be eaten. Tilting his head, he imagined Dr. Scully’s face; the hard look she’d given him, the way she didn’t appear to be ruffled by the information he’d shared. He knew if it were him being told that someone had broken into his home and hacked his computer, he’d be more than a little bothered. 

To her, though, it had seemed...unsurprising. Ethan’s curiosity could not be suppressed. He needed to know more about this couple he’d willingly spied on. He’d made the vow to find out more before, but now his determination was bolstered by the punch he’d received from a supposed friend.

After Sam left his apartment, Ethan had called the police sure that it would make him feel better. He didn’t necessarily want to press charges, but he wanted Sam to know that he wasn’t going to simply ignore what had happened, swallow it and move on. He was angry, offended, and hurt. 

Unfortunately, the police were of little help. They took down his story - a friend attacked him suddenly in the apartment, resulting in the wounds on his face - and promised to follow up with him. They asked if he knew where Sam was now, but he’d had to reply that no, he didn’t. Sam was an enigma to him now - and the fact that he’d been drawn into this...this mess simply because Sam had known he was vulnerable - in need of a paycheck - was crystal clear. There had been something sinister about the whole thing from the beginning, Ethan realized, repeating to himself the tired cliché that hindsight was 20/20. 

Choosing not to divulge information about the job he’d been hired to do, the police left after only half an hour, with little to go on but Ethan’s simple story. Afterward, Ethan had sat silently, mulling over things again.   
He was tired, and wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. That was when he’d found himself in the car, in front of the shopping center, and now, recalling his meeting with Dr. Scully.

He thought about the house he’d broken into, the small, two story farm house with minimal landscaping and ugly off-white paint, windows trimmed in a dark brown that reminded Ethan of dog shit. He’d honestly been surprised to find out that a doctor lived there - thinking surely that she would’ve lived in a nicer neighborhood, in a much nicer house. It was puzzling to think that she (and this Mulder guy) chose to live so far out of the way, no neighbors nearby, in a largely unremarkable house.

He fidgeted in his hard seat, the sounds of nearby shoppers invading his thoughts. He looked at a mother and daughter at the next table, each of them surrounded by bags of merchandise. It made him think of his own, stark, apartment - the emptiness he oftentimes felt. He had nothing, no friends (now that Sam was out of the picture), and no job. It made him wonder what kind of life Dr. Scully led - what kind of life he’d inserted himself into, only to potentially harm her. Had he helped create unwanted turmoil in her life? If he had, what had been the reason? He felt increasingly despondent as he finished his coffee.

The more he sat and thought about it, the more the idea of going to Dr. Scully’s house sounded like a good idea. Screw Sam, screw threats. He had nothing to lose, anyway. He figured if he sat down with them, he may have some idea of what he’d gotten himself into - and what he’d inadvertently done to them. He felt it was larger then them all, and part of him was frightened, but mostly he just wanted answers.

Determination building, he stood up and headed for the exit, back to his car. It was then that he thought of his mother. He felt he should probably talk to her before potentially throwing his existence to the wolves.

###

Scully sat on the couch, occasionally staring at her foot as if she expected it to detach itself from her ankle, cleanly, with a click, and start scurrying around the room. She shook her head to get rid of the image, anticipating Mulder’s return. She felt only slightly guilty about not driving to get him.

The house was silent except for the occasional rattle of the windows as a gust of wind brushed the sides of the house. Scully shivered, as her thoughts swirled in her head - they were so broken and nonlinear, she ended up having to lay back against the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, she remained still.

Kayla, with her odd migraines and sleep-walking.  
Was that what I was doing when Mulder found me in the woods?  
The mark on my heel - where did it come from?  
Looks harmless enough.  
Nose bleeds?   
But I’m healthy. Tests were clean.  
Where’s Mulder, for Christ’s sake?

Scully’s left foot started shaking, hanging slightly off the edge of the couch. An involuntary movement, it caught Scully by surprise until she realized it was a habit she’d developed after William - one she had yet to lose. She squeezed her eyes tight, willing her thoughts to go anywhere but there.

She didn’t like to dwell on it - it brought her nothing but anxiety and, if she was completely honest, a great deal of sadness, though she managed to hide both pretty well.

Was William okay?  
What’s happening to me - is it affecting him?   
Does it have anything to do with him?

Surely not, she thought. William was living a normal life somewhere, far away from this darkness. Recreational sports, report cards, school dances, girlfriends. Halting her mind, Scully forced herself to sit up when she heard Mulder’s footsteps on the front porch.

He came in, windblow and weary, but his eyes were wide.

“Scully?”

“Yeah, Mulder.” She realized she’d been completely in the dark for at least an hour. He’d probably seen the dark house, her car in the driveway, and feared the worst. They were good at that - jumping straight to the worst case scenario - ignoring the simpler explanation: Scully had gone to bed. She heard him take a deep breath as he turned on the overhead light, the ceiling fan making a faint humming noise at it started rotating. The cool air somehow felt wonderful. 

Mulder sat next to her on the couch, not bothering to waste time.

“I talked to Skinner. He knows nothing.”

Scully stared for a minute, confused.

“You walked to the gas station two miles away to .... to talk to Skinner?”

Mulder nodded, glancing at her only briefly. “I am now living under the assumption that the microphones in our walls aren’t all we need to worry about.” He said it softly, causing Scully to have to lean in to hear him more easily. She caught on immediately and went for her bag, sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Taking out her cell phone, she handed it to Mulder.

“Here - do what you need to with this.” 

Taking a deep breath, she was hesitant to tell Mulder about her strange day. Her heel was propped on the coffee table. She decided to start with that.

“Look, Mulder,” she said, lifting her leg and bending her knee. She turned her foot, holding it by the ankle. She ran her thumb over the spot as Mulder bent to get a closer look.

“Look at what, Scully?” He squinted, his tongue darting out of his mouth as he peered at Scully’s foot. Finally, he spotted it.

“It--it’s a needle mark. See? I don’t know how it got there.”

She proceeded to tell Mulder about Kayla Moore, and by the time she was finished, Scully could feel that her blood pressure had risen considerably. She was disappointed - it hadn’t helped to talk about it with Mulder at all. It was still so confusing. Mulder offered no words of comfort, nothing to ease her worry. She hadn’t expected any - he wasn’t one to sugar coat things. She knew he was mulling things over, trying to figure out a course of action. 

Suddenly, he stood, pulling Scully to her feet as well.

“Come with me,” he said, as he opened the front door. 

Scully followed Mulder through the back yard and over the fence. It was pitch black,and the crescent moon provided no light beneath the thicket of trees. It was bitterly cold, and Scully followed Mulder closely, partly to make sure they didn’t get separated, and partly for warmth. She held on to his right arm with both hands, their bodies so close her nose brushed his coat.

“Should have brought a flashlight,” she mumbled into his shoulder as he slowed their pace. Scully peeked around him to see a dark shape fifty yards ahead - a small building. Pine needles and dry leaves crunched under his feet as Mulder moved closer to the building. Scully stood frozen, staring at the shack with some sort of recognition, Mulder noticed.

“Scully? Come here, take a look at this.”

She jumped as the old door creaked, its hinges badly in need of oil. She was able to move her feet again, and she made her way to the entrance.

“Have I been here?” Scully asked, in a breathy voice - her mind had gone foggy trying to recreate the memory she didn’t yet have a firm grasp on. She couldn’t go any further, but peeked around the door frame to see Mulder crouched in the dirt.

“There was a table here - and it’s not been long since it was removed. There are marks in the dirt where it stood.” Mulder looked at Scully, partially hidden by the doorway. Her eyes were wild, darting around the small room. She reminded Mulder of a trapped animal.

“Let’s go home,” she said briskly before turning away. Mulder jumped up to follow her. Catching up with her, he grabbed her elbow with his left hand, but didn’t stop her progress through the clearing. He saw her teeth chattering, instantly regretting dragging her out here. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah...” 

Mulder didn’t believe it, but he didn’t press the issue. Eventually, they were back in the warmth of the house, buried under the duvet Scully had always despised, their heads heavily resting on their pillows. 

“We need answers, Mulder. Living like this,” Scully whispered, omitting the word ‘again’, “isn’t my idea of fun. I know it’s not yours, either.”

Their heads were turned toward one another. Scully’s breath as she spoke ticked Mulder’s nose. He rose a hand to scratch it.

“Here’s what we know,” Mulder said, louder, his voice carrying through the room. Scully waited, as Mulder’s mind began sifting through the details.

“We’re being monitored. For an unknown reason. You may or may not have had something done to you on that table. I saw your face, Scully. You recognized it all.” He paused as Scully looked away, briefly admonishing herself for being unable to hide the truth from Mulder. “We have an informant though, sort of. That kid. The kid you met in the shopping mall.”

“We’ve not seen or heard from him since. And he didn’t tell us about the mikes. I don’t know that he’s truly on our side. The meet up at the mall could have been a setup we somehow managed to narrowly escape.” She paused, and continued when Mulder said nothing.”So, your conversation with Skinner wasn’t productive?”

Mulder had forgotten all about it, but there wasn’t much to say. They’d had a ten minute conversation, Mulder bringing up the microphones and Scully’s sudden disappearance, her seizure. Skinner was concerned, but could offer no help. He promised to look into the microphones, but didn’t sound too sure that he could find any answers for Mulder. 

“We agreed to talk again in two days time - I’ll call him from the payphone again...though I’m sure it’s a risk. I have to take it, though. I just...I can’t figure out why we’re being targeted,” Mulder finished with a sigh, turning to lay on his back with a frustrated huff.

“I can’t imagine what kind of information they’re hoping to get by watching us...” Scully wondered.  
“It all comes down to a question of who ‘they’ are, Scully.”  
“Do you think we’re safe here, Mulder?” Scully surprised herself with the question, not even realizing she’d been thinking about it. Mulder took a few minutes to answer.

“Maybe...maybe not.” Turning his back to Scully, he tried to fall asleep. The last thing he recalled before dozing off was her warm hand on his back.

###  
The light of the bathroom made Mulder’s closed eyelids burn red. Slowly opening his eyes, he squinted at the harsh change in the dark bedroom. It was still night – Mulder glancing over to notice that it was 3:50am. They hadn’t been in bed two hours, but Scully was apparently awake. Had she gone to sleep at all?

He heard the clank of metal, as it hit something in the bathroom. Uncovering himself quickly, he moved to the bathroom door, and saw Scully sitting with her back against the tub, resting on the cold tile floor. A scalpel lay next to her right leg; her left leg was curled on her lap, her foot resting on a bit of gauze she’d put underneath it to catch the blood. Glancing up at him only for a second, she went back to work, pressing on her heel. 

“I had to know. The needle mark appears to be just that. Nothing was put under my skin that I can tell.” She spoke with certainty. Mulder just stared.

He slowly crouched down to her level and scooted closer, picking up the scalpel. 

“Good thing you’re a doctor,” he mumbled as he rose to rinse the tool off in the sink. 

“They clearly injected me with something. I just…I don’t know what. It didn’t show up when I had those tests run. They’d had some way to subdue me. For what, I don’t know. But when you found me in the woods that night, I’d not come there of my own volition.”

“That much is clear.”

Scully rolled her eyes at Mulder’s non-answers, getting frustrated at all the loose ends.

“I’m sure of it now. It was the chip in my neck,” Scully asserted, placing a bandage over the small wound in her heel. Standing up, she went for the scalpel again. Mulder snatched it up before she got her hands on it.

“You’ve got nothing else to cut, Scully.”

He was eyeing her, his jaw clenched tight, clearly aware of her intentions. 

“Maybe it’s best, Mulder. At least it would remove them from our lives partially.”

“You’re not taking out the chip.” 

Scully sighed, looking up at him with a resigned expression.

“I’d rather die of cancer than live in constant fear.”

“You don’t mean that. We don’t have to live in fear, Scully. We can deal with this. It doesn’t have to control our lives.”

“They’re already doing a pretty damned good job of whatever it is they’re trying to do, Mulder. We’re traipsing out into the woods in the middle of the night in search of who knows what. We’re finding microphones in our walls. I’m being used…like a lab rat. They've got us arguing amongst one another, Mulder.” Her voice trailed off, but her eyes were hard. 

Mulder moved to the bedroom, still clutching the scalpel. He was angry now. Scully’s willingness to put herself in that position again made him sick. He imagined the ghostly white woman who had stared at him with red-rimmed blue eyes, her hospital gown loose on one shoulder. He thought it was the worst thing he’d laid eyes on at the time. He didn’t care to relive it.

“Just…think a minute, Scully. Think about what you want to do. Think about what it’ll mean.”

She had. She’d gone through, in her mind, about the pain the cancer had caused, both physically and emotionally. She’d thought about the fear she’d had of dying. Of saying goodbye to her loved ones. She’d thought about how hurt she’d been by her brother’s words when he’d come in to speak with her as she lay on the starched white sheets of the hospital bed. The contempt he’d not been able to hide, even with his sister dying in front of him. Her choices had never been something he’d agreed with, and they’d butted heads. But she hadn’t wanted things to end that way, not with anyway, and certainly not with her older brother. She recalled her mother’s face, the worry etched in her face like a deep burn.  
Lying in bed before deciding to cut her heel, she’d decided that being confined to this house or confined to a small car and dusty hotel rooms wasn’t any more attractive than saying goodbye to her life. She’d done both before, and she knew she couldn’t go back to living in hiding. Taking out the chip had seemed logical, the safest choice; the one that would cause her the least amount of suffering in the end. It sounded selfish, she knew, but right this second, she wasn’t sure she cared.

She walked to the bed where Mulder still sat, the scalpel loose in his hand now. Sitting beside him, but carefully avoiding being too close, she looked at him. He held his head down, staring at his lap. His face was determined, his jaw still clenched tightly. She could see the bones in his jaw working. 

“It’s my choice, Mulder,” she said finally, in a softer tone to lighten the blow.

“What about me? What about your family? We will be the ones who have to live with your decision. It’s incredibly selfish, Scully. And you know it.” He didn’t wait for a reply, instead getting on his feet again.  
Scully heard his footsteps as he headed downstairs. She was almost relieved that he’d taken the scalpel with him.


	8. Chapter 8

The snow whirled in the air, the harsh wind stinging his cheeks as he moved closer to the building. He took a deep breath and smelled the decay. It burned his nostrils and he covered his nose with his sleeve to block the odor. Getting closer to the wooden door that hung on its rusty hinges half opened, he began to panic. He knew he had to see what was in the room, but he also knew he would never be able to erase the memory from his mind. Despite the cold temperature, sweat poured down his face, dampening the collar of his dress shirt. His suit jacket felt lose and ill-fitting, like he was wearing the clothes of a much larger man. The cuffs of his pants were soaked with snow, and his toes were almost certainly frostbitten, encased in the thin black dress socks and the loafers he’d so foolishly worn to a snowy forest. 

But his discomfort wasn’t important now. What mattered was behind that door. Reaching one hand out, he grabbed the rotting wood and swung the door wide open. The rush of air created by the movement of the door pushed more of the putrid odor of decay into his face. He was forced to turn his head away for a second. Bringing his eyes forward again, he edged into the threshold and caught sight of her, flat on the table, naked and still. He gasped; taking in more foul air, then gagged and fell to his knees against the door frame. 

Looking up from below, he saw the tips of her fingers, black as night; he noticed her toes were in the same condition. Without knowing exactly how he managed, he stood up, absorbing the scene completely. Her red hair spilled over the end of the table, blowing slightly in the drafty room. It was the only part of her that looked real, alive. He had the urge to cut it off, keep it as a memento, but realized he didn’t have a knife or scissors to do so. Her lips were an icy blue. 

The contrast was striking against her skin - it was nearly as white as the snow outside. He knew she was dead, but still shook his head, reaching his hands out to touch her like he hoped he’d suddenly gained some magical power to breathe life back into her. She was cold, rigid. He shivered, unable to imagine how she’d gotten to this place. Had he brought her here? Had she brought herself here? He noticed the small pool of blood behind her neck. He realized with deep regret that she’d done it. She’d crept down stairs while he slept on the sofa. She’d gotten her hands on the scalpel and removed the chip. He wondered why she’d died so quickly. 

He thought of her eyes the night before - wet with tears, full of fear and, oddly, determination. Mulder found he wanted to see them once more. He delicately lifted one of her white eyelids and saw nothing but black oil, swimming in ribbons, blocking even the whites of her eyes from view.

Mulder’s face was buried in the crook of his arm. He jerked at the sound of Scully’s voice. It seemed far away, but he knew she was close - he felt her hand on his foot, tapping lightly.

“Mulder, I’m going into work,” she said, shaking his foot to get a response. He looked up at her face through one eye and nodded slightly, still unable to shake the dream from his imagination. 

“Yeah...okay. See you tonight,’ he finally muttered as he moved slowly to a sitting position, taking in his surroundings - he’d spent the night in his office, on his old leather sofa. He decided it was time to get up, shake off the remnants of his nightmare and get on with his day. He had a conversation with Skinner planned later, and he wanted to be prepared with questions. 

Mulder felt sluggish; he hadn’t slept all night - or at least he thought he hadn’t. Standing up, he walked to the living room to turn on the TV - ABC news was on, and he left it there, listening as he went to the kitchen for some breakfast. Sitting heavily in a kitchen chair, he rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. Mulder chose to turn his attention to the news once again as he heard a mention of missing children. He couldn’t turn away from things like this - Samantha was always in the back of his mind. The turmoil her disappearance had caused everyone in his life still weighed heavily on him. He sometimes wondered if he’d gone into the wrong profession: maybe he should have become a Special Agent in the Violent Crimes unit. But no, he thought, he made the right choices. The truth was always most important to him. The X-Files had offered the possibility of answers, and that’s what he’d always sought out. And, he thought, shaking his head, he would’ve never met Scully in all likelihood.

Mulder listened to the news anchor as he continued the story:

“The FBI have been consulted, and may take over many of the cases. The disappearances of these children have taken place all over the country. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it - children from all races and backgrounds are included in the list of possible victims, though there do seem to be a higher number of females than males. The multiple police departments and the FBI seem to concur that these are isolated cases for the time being, but we’ll be keeping you up to date as the story progresses...”

Mulder puzzled over it, and decided to do some research of his own. The smell of brewed coffee brought him out of his thoughts, and after pouring himself a cup, he settled into his office again, sinking into his desk chair. The computer screen glowed as Mulder searched for information. Each missing persons case was fairly similar. Though the children had been taken from different places and at different times of the day, they all had one thing in common: according to the different police reports Mulder was able to find, all the children had been adopted. Mulder wondered: why hadn’t the news anchor mentioned this little bit of information? He reasoned that it seemed like valuable information in situations like this - did the birth parents have anything to do with the kidnappings? He supposed the investigating agents and police detectives were certainly looking into that angle, but Mulder was fairly certain that that wasn’t the case anyway. 

Mulder’s search could only take him so far - he didn’t have the FBI’s resources anymore, and he often wished he could at least call on the Lone Gunmen for help from time to time. Taking another sip of his coffee, he turned in his chair, thinking about the dream. The TV droned on, but his mind was on the scalpel she’d used last night on her heel. It sat by Mulder’s computer mouse. He’d stared at it for a good while the previous night, unable to sleep, unable to rid the thought of Scully succumbing to cancer again. He was angry, but overnight the feeling had developed more into hurt than hostility. Was she really so unhappy in life that she’d choose to end it in such a slow, dehumanizing way?

He briefly worried about the possibility that she’d try something at work - that she’d come home this evening with the chip out; declare that it was done, and that there’s nothing he could do. Putting his hands over his face, he exited out of the internet browser and reached for his flash drive - the one that held his memoir project. It was slow going, but he’d been working at it from day to day, writing a paragraph here, a chapter there. He’d just gotten finished with the retelling of Scully’s first abduction, so he decided not to write this morning. Everything felt too heavy, too emotionally draining. The argument they’d had the night before nagged at him, made him feel on edge. He knew why - no solution or agreement had been reached, and things were still in the air.   
Their ability to talk things out had gotten only a little better in the years they’d inhabited this home together. Since they were living together, it always felt to Mulder that it was important to clear the air, to make sure neither was at odds with the other for too long. It made the house stiflingly uncomfortable and hard to be in - like now. Even though she wasn’t in the house, he kept replaying the conversation from last night over and over in his mind.

She’d just have to see his point of view this time. He refused to back down, especially on the subject of the cancer reentering their lives. 

###

After Ethan’s brief visit with his mother, he’d gone back home to pack, preparing to leave town after he’d confronted Dr. Scully. Packing his car with what few possessions he had, Ethan started the drive to the old farm house where he’d first hacked Mr. Mulder’s computer. It was a big risk, he knew, but one he had to take. 

As he turned off the side street leading to his apartment, he noticed a black SUV follow from the street beyond. His neighborhood wasn’t exactly well-to-do. He knew the SUV was sorely out of place. He wasn’t shocked to see it follow him to the interstate. He was certain he was being followed, but he chose to ignore it.

As he reached the exit that would take him to the farm house, the SUV began getting closer. The off ramp was a sharp turn, and it was an unfortunate time for Ethan to suddenly become afraid. He nearly lost control in the curve, but managed to keep the car on the road. Turning left at the stop light off the ramp, he watched in his rear view mirror as the SUV followed, too closely now. They were in a quiet area - no houses were along the street, no places of business. It was just Ethan and the mysterious SUV. And it kept getting closer. The speed limit was 55 miles per hour, but Ethan was going around 70, now panicky and angry at himself for not going back home earlier, when he’d had the chance. 

Ethan involuntarily jerked the wheel to the right as the driver of the SUV honked its horn - a loud sound that made Ethan think of driving through tunnels as a kid, his mom blowing the horn in a silly pattern to make him laugh. Only this wasn’t so pleasant. His body jerked as the SUV came up behind his car and slammed into the back end of Ethan’s vehicle. Swerving onto the shoulder, Ethan barely managed to keep the car in his control. He was only on the road for another few seconds before he felt another hit.

This time the impact was so great that he slammed into a guardrail and was unable to keep going. The bent metal of the guardrail had embedded itself into Ethan’s front bumper. The wheels of his car skidded as Ethan pressed the gas in a feeble attempt to drive away. Instead, he sat, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He frantically unbuckled his seat belt and pushed the opened airbag away from his face to reach for the door handle. He thought if he could get out and sprint into the woods, maybe he’d have a chance of escaping. It was all for naught, though. 

He didn’t get one leg out of the door of the car before he felt the door swing open forcefully. Not expecting it, Ethan spilled on to the ground, gravel scratching his cheeks, his palms, as he lay there, staring at the feet of the men who’d followed him. He saw shiny shoes and black pants but nothing else as a black hood was placed over his face. All was dark.

###

The two men took the man’s body back to the nondescript white building that they’d brought everyone else to. Carrying him roughly into an empty holding cell, they dumped his body and took the hood off. The man was still out cold, and would be for a while. The injection they’d administered in the trunk of the car was enough to keep a grown man asleep for at least a few hours. It worked, and worked well. No fight was put up, and it made their jobs incredibly easy. It was routine and neither of them balked at the idea. They were paid, and paid well.

After discussing the best way to go about it, they decided that they’d head to the hospital first, then to the farm house. They had orders to bring both the man and woman in. They weren’t sure for what, but the two men never really knew much else beyond their basic assignments. They didn’t ask questions. 

That was also an order.

The woman was relatively easy to retrieve. Out for lunch, she’d driven back into the parking garage without any suspicions whatsoever. After she’d parked her car, one of the men was lucky to notice she’d bent over the passenger seat to retrieve something that had fallen to the floor.

Taking the opportunity, he’d silently opened the driver’s side door and plunged the needle into her neck. He watched her body slump, lifeless and still. He put the perfunctory hood over her head and motioned for the second man to bring their SUV closer. Both men carried her to the trunk, keeping an eye out for any onlookers. Placing her in the vehicle just as they had the man on the side of the road, they climbed in at the front and began the drive to the farm house.

The music of Chopin filled the SUV, and Scully heard the last few notes of his Cello Sonata in G major - it brought her to her senses again, as she realized that she was tied up and without an obvious means of escape. The dark hood was hot, and it scratched her skin as she moved. Her breathing was labored, and she could feel the friction of the zip ties around her wrists as she moved. She imagined the marks already forming on her skin, mixed with blood and sweat. She had no idea how long she’d been out, or where she may be headed. Sweat stung her eyes as she listened to the calming music blaring from a speaker that was near her head. It was in horrible contrast to her situation, the beautiful piano notes made her feel ill. She almost screamed, but realized that nothing good ever came of it. She’d only be hit, or worse, killed by her captors of she made noise.

Instead, she focused on freeing her hands from the zip ties. Her wrists were now on fire, but she could feel that the plastic had move slightly up her hands toward her fingertips. Putting her bottom lip between her teeth, she hid the grunt of pain as she scraped her skin against the zip tie. She was nearly free when she felt the vehicle stop. The music was abruptly missing, and it was now too quiet. Scully froze as she heard two car doors open and then shut again. She placed herself in a fetal position after quickly maneuvering the zip tie back town to her wrists. She could feel the small amount of blood dripping down her arm as she lay still.

The trunk opened and though her vision was completely obscured, Scully shut her eyes tight, expecting pain from a blow to the head or something similar. Instead, all she heard were voices.

“How tight did you make these? She’s got the tranquilizer. She’s out.” The disembodied voice chuckled along with second, and Scully felt her body being lifted out of the car. Someone was carrying her. Head bobbing with the motion of the person’s movements, Scully strained to hear more, anything that may give away her surroundings. She heard nothing but the sound of footsteps on concrete. She smelled motor oil and car exhaust - was she in a garage? The air became cleaner as they moved on.

She could feel they were turning corners, but soon became dizzy with trying to keep up with left and right turns. There were too many, she’d never be able to map them all in her imagination. She managed to stay still, not giving away that she was indeed awake. 

She heard a door open, then shut behind her. She was unceremoniously placed on a concrete floor, then she heard retreating footsteps and another closing door.   
She began trying to free her hands again and was successful. She quickly ripped the black hood off her head and took in her surroundings. It was an empty, white room, only a small bed in one corner and a toilet in the other. It was a prison cell, Scully thought. The room had no windows, only a solid, dark blue door. Her feet were stilled zip-tied, and she didn’t know if she could wriggle out of it like she had freed her hands. She slipped off her shoes and socks, but noticed the zip tie was too tight. Her ankles ached as they were pressed against one another. She’d be like this until someone came to free her. 

Licking her lips, she felt exhausted. She tried to fight sleep, but soon succumbed, falling into a deep, uncomfortable slumber, her dreams full of piano sonatas and slamming car doors.


End file.
